


You Got Me On My Knees and There's Blood On the Ground

by Megalomaniacal



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Prostitute mac, Prostitution, Suicide Attempt, There's a rape scene that I wish I could take out but I have nothing to fill in its spot I'm stu, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11971530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megalomaniacal/pseuds/Megalomaniacal
Summary: Dennis turns to Mac, face perfect, beautiful and calm and serious, lips parting to allow smooth, even speech. "I am God."Mac believed him.





	1. (I, Dear, Am A Professional)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from cobra starship's "Chew Me Up And Spit Me Out"

God, Mac remembered being told, loved each and every one of his children. God was the one who would save you and bring salvation when you needed to be saved. God was good, he was kind, he was the savior of mankind. And yet, Mac thought, God had yet to do anything about Mac's crummy apartment, abusive roommate, or his hellish career. He'd fucked around too much in high school, too much sex and too many drugs, and all Mac could decide was that God had decided not to love him anymore. His dad was in jail, his mom never left the couch, and he wasn't smart enough to go anywhere after high school except the back streets of Philly. He had no money and he was dead out of drugs, no drugs meant no money, no money meant no drugs, and he was sleeping on the streets until a gentleman offered his bed for a night in exchange for just a few moments with a young man's body. 

Mac needed the money, he hated himself. Fucked and smoked and drank himself sick every night until he scraped up enough money to move into what had to be the shittiest apartment in Philadelphia with someone who used to be a friend. The water in the shower was cold, sharp on his skin when he rubbed it raw every night but feeling so good when he dragged himself out of bed each morning to work out. He was handsome, muscular, and oh so pretty, looking so strong but able to easily be turned into a whimpering mess. At least, that's what his clients told him. 

God didn't love you when you had to scrub your skin raw every night because your skin was stained with the touches of disgusting, filthy strangers. Not just any strangers, either- men that would finger Mac wide open before filling him up and doing their best to ruin him. God didn't love you when even your own roommate, your childhood best friend, found you disgusting to the point where he grew furious and screamed at you, burning your skin with cheap cigarettes and forcing you to do things that you'd normally be paid for. 

Mac was scared that God would never love him. He hid a bible under his mattress, reading through it sometimes when his roommate was asleep, clinging tightly to the leather bound book in hopes that it could somehow cleanse his past and save him. He knew he was going to hell, it was too late to get into heaven- he just needed a break. He could barely afford his apartment, could barely scrape up enough energy to go out each night but was scared to go home to rest. 

As a child, religion was drilled into his head. Go to church, go to Sunday school, go to a Catholic elementary school, learn everything you can about your Lord and your Savior. Learn how he hates fags, he hates sex, learn how he is against everything that you will later be forced to do. He remembered the first time he'd jerked off, cock flushed and pink in a young teen's hand as he bent over some male sport magazine. He remembered sobbing and praying after, begging to be forgiven, hoping God would hear when he whispered 'I'm sorry,' over and over again. 

Spend your money on drugs to forget your sins, commit sin to make money for more drugs. 

He was supposed to be successful- a wealthy, handsome young man with a nice house for his wife and kids and perhaps a dog, dressing up to go to church on Sunday. Only on his knees to pray, not to suck the dicks of old men in dirty alleyways. 

You don't talk with your mouth full. Mac remembered being taught that before he could even read. It was a rule that seemed stupid as a child, even to most adults, but to him it was life or death. You sucked cock and stayed quiet. "You're a whore," he was told by one of his first clients, "You don't tell me what to do, you don't tell me to stop. You suck my cock and shut the fuck up if you wanna get your cash and keep your face nice an' pretty." Sucking turned to fucking and he learned not to protest with a dick up his ass either. Just moan and take it, say what they want you to say- Daddy, master, sir- anything they wanted. Anything you could get money out of. 

He really did learn a lot when he first started working. The first time a client fucked him he wasn't aware it was going to happen. He was flipped over, pinned down, forced to take it. He didn't get paid with cash. He got paid with an aching body and aching head, waking up lying in an alleyway wearing stained and dirty clothes. Give the men more and they'll pay more, he discovered. Just let them take what they want. You're nothing but a whore anyway, why do you care? He hated the way it felt when he was touched, hated the pushing and pulling and groping, but he'd been doing it far too long to try and stop now. 

Everything in his life was in shambles. His clothes were old and torn. His bed was a thin mattress on the floor that he shared with his roommate. Their shower never had hot water and the stove didn't work. The heater didn't work. The air conditioner didn't work. They never ate at the table because it was covered in empty bags and needles that used to hold drugs, as well as empty bottles and cans of glue and paint. He had no friends, no family, no one to help him get out of the hellish cycle that was his life. 

He just took his meds, drank some beer, took it up the ass and dealt with the life he got stuck with.


	2. Keep on Money Makin'

Charlie honestly didn't remember a single moment of his life. It annoyed the shit out of Mac sometimes, which in turn made Charlie upset, which quickly spiraled into Mac getting the shit beat out of him. Charlie was a good guy, Mac knew it, he just went a little crazy after high school. No friends, no dad, childhood trauma, and a mom that fucks every man that steps into the house can mess a kid up. He got high so much that it killed off the parts of his brain that allowed him to remember the very things that screwed him up so bad in the first place. He got so high that he wasn't even Charlie anymore, really, and he certainly wasn't Mac's best friend.

One time- it had only happened once- Charlie got really high, worse than Mac had ever seen, and had forced himself on Mac. Mac didn't go back home for a few days after that. When he did, Charlie was sober for the first time in months, and he apologized.

It hadn't happened again.

* * *

 

Mac sat up in his bed. Or, well, his mattress. Their mattress. Whatever. It didn't matter. It was late in the afternoon, sun beaming in rather unpleasantly through the small, dirty windows. Charlie was- thankfully- passed out on the floor next to the mattress. Mac would've laughed had it not been so pathetic. As it was, he knew the other man had probably got fucked up on drugs and ended up with his clients taking advantage and not paying him. It happened like that much too often.

He sighed, forcing himself to get up, wishing he could turn off the sun. Working the streets was easier when it was too dark to make out the details of men's faces. Too dark to see the dirt and stains on his clothes. He sighed again as he dug through the mess of clothes on the floor in the corner. It really was filthy, keeping their clothes stored in a pile on a dusty old floor, but they weren't buying a dresser anytime soon. He tossed aside a worn out pair of black skinny jeans and a sleeveless white shirt that, honestly, probably hadn't been washed in a few weeks. It smelled like booze and cigarettes. He smelled like smoke and cheap perfume. It wasn't a big deal.

Mac used to wear makeup to attract his clientele, painting on long lashes and dark, pouty lips- but nowadays he only wore it to cover up bruises. He was well known in the area- Philidelphia's prize whore- and even Pepper Jack didn't try and get him off the streets. He had, a few years ago, tried to get Mac to be one of his whores, but he stopped after being denied countless times. And sucked off a few times. And fucking Mac's ass. Mac basically serviced Pepper Jack for free in exchange for his freedom to work the streets without giving up a portion of his pay. It wasn't bad, really, he wasn't any worse than Mac's usual clients.

It didn't take long for Mac to cover up the bags under his eyes and touch up some old scars and bruises, but that also meant he had nothing to do except smoke or go out early. One costed money, the other made money.

He went with the latter.

The streets were familiar, every bump in the side walk and crack in the road already imprinted in his mind. He knew the busiest spots on each night and the spots to go to avoid cops. He knew how and where to meet up with his regular clients. It was almost pathetic, really, how used to everything he was. He had condoms in one pocket and a small bottle of lube in the other. Just in case.

Even in broad daylight he didn't get to many second glances. He looked almost like any normal person in Philly, no one would even think he was a whore unless they were looking. And people did look. People who wanted pretty little boy whores to stretch and play with always knew just how to get Mac's attention. A glance from across the street and a subtle nod brought him over to an older gentleman- gentleman being a debatable description- and he almost instantly found an arm wrapping around his waist.

"Ahhh, you. My friend Charlie told me about you. He said you were the best whore in Philly!" The old man poked him in the chest, not even caring to keep his voice down. Mac barely stopped himself from cringing away and just forced a laugh.

"Charlie, man, he's crazy. Do I know you?" Mac faked a smile, trying his best to ignore the hand rested on his hip.

"You don't, but Charlie does! He's lots of fun, that kid. Always goes along with any crazy shit people are into. You look like a pretty experienced guy. Think you can help an old man out?" He winked. Disgusting, Mac thought. Sleazy old men who banged his ex best friend and decided they wanted to bang him to. It was like a game of pass the parcel- except the parcel was a bunch of STIs. Mac hated clients who were dirty- one time a client gave him a nasty case of gonorrhea that had lasted for a good month. He couldn't work for weeks. Needless to say, Charlie was furious with him.

Mac swallowed his pride, something easy to do after working so long, and nodded at the short man standing beside him. "If you've got the cash, I can do whatever you want." His eyes widened and he was surprised they didn't pop out of his head when the man pulled out a thick wad of cash from his pocket.

A thick hand smacked him on the back, the man's laughter obnoxiously loud before he paused to speak. "Of course I got the money, man, who do you think I am? Cmon, let's go back to a motel, how about that? Get you out of those dirty clothes and onto my cock."

Mac wasn't very impressed when he got the man's clothes off and moved onto his knees on the motel floor. The man's cock looked, for lack of a better explanation, like a button in a fur coat. It was more of a ding than a dong, but it was good money and it wouldn't leave him sore. He could take the whole thing in his mouth without getting anywhere close to gagging. It wasn't a problem at all except for trying not to sneeze when the dude's pubic hair rubbed against his nose.

 _A rich guy,_ Mac thought _, and he can't afford a razor or motel better than this shithole._

Mac's tongue swept over the top of the man's cock, licking off a sour bead of precome. He tuned out the man's moaning, rolling his eyes behind closed lids as thick fingers tangled in his hair. Gross. The man's fingers were about as thick and as greasy as sausages. His instincts told him to get the fuck out. His wallet said to suck that cock and make money. His wallet won.

It didn't take long anyway- the man soon pushed him off and shoved him over to the bed instead. He was quick in removing Mac's pants, fumbling to get on top of him. Mac hated being fucked face-down. He preferred seeing what was going on, but the older man was already pushing into him before he could say anything.

"In a rush?" Mac joked, grunting softly at the intrusion. It really wasn't much, wouldn't last long, but it was still sudden and uncomfortable. He didn't get a verbal response, his head being pushed into the pillows to shut him up while the man had his way with him.

He was right in assuming it wouldn't take very long. It didn't- a quick, honestly rather pathetic fuck, and then there was money being tossed onto the bed and a cackling laugh before the room door slammed shut and he was alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I were to give this chapter an realistic title, it would be "I never proofread anything and all my friends are asleep"

Just because Mac was a whore did not mean he appreciated having money thrown at him, nor did he appreciate having a used condom left lying on his back. It was degrading and gross, really. Mac could handle gross- his apartment was honestly a disgusting piece of shit- but he didn't need what was essentially a bag of sperm lying on him. Men were gross. He'd decided that long ago after one of his first clients left him a loose, come-soaked mess in the bathroom of some shitty Irish bar. He knew that he didn't run the risk of getting pregnant, having male anatomy and all, but that didn't make come any less gross.

On the bright side, he was two hundred dollars richer and his ass wasn't even sore. Dumb old man gave him way more money than he had to. Mac was a pretty cheap whore in comparison to some of the others, but cheap rates meant more clients, more clients meant more money, and more money meant he wouldn't starve to death.

He sat up, tossing the dirty condom under the motel bed for room service to deal with later. He was sure they'd handled worse before and it wasn't his problem. His clothing, however, was. His shirt was filthy- how did it get so damn dirty?- and his pants were nowhere to be found. He cursed rather loudly as he stood up to dig through the room, throwing on the dirty shirt in the process.

His pants turned out to be outside the door of the motel room. He pulled them on, less than thrilled about the dirt and muddy footprints, and head out of the hotel with his cash stowed away in his pocket. Catching a cab back to his apartment was easy. The cab drivers were all relatively familiar with him, knowing where to go without him sitting in the front pointing out every turn. He was even kind of friends with some of them. It was nice, in a way, to have friends other than your druggie roommate.

"I'm home." Mac announced, stepping into the apartment. "Mac is in the house!"

Charlie blinked up at him, clutching a bucket of paint to his chest. It wasn't an unusual sight, and in some ways it was better than coming home to the other man passed out with a needle in his arm. "We have a house? Dude. Where?"

"No- I just- it's an expression, Charlie. Are you drinking paint again?" He walked over, trying to take the bucket but knowing better than to keep trying after Charlie slapped his hand away and held the paint closer to himself. "Sorry. Sorry."

Charlie narrowed his eyes, watching Mac as he crossed the room. "Did you get paid? Can you make dinner? Because our heater broke again and I don't know how to use the stove and there was a leprechaun in our fridge, man, it was-"

"I'll make dinner." Mac interrupted. He didn't need to hear about Charlie's drug-induced daydreams. Hallucinations. Whatever they were. "I made two hundred bucks off of one old dude."

"Wow." Charlie droned. "I'm so impressed. You managed to scrounge up a third of the rent, dude. Congrats. You want a fucking medal?"

Mac nearly winced at the cold edge in the other's voice. He chose not to reply, turning to shove the cash in the stupid plastic jar they kept on the table for their bills. Charlie didn't bring in any money, he just blew it all on drugs, but Mac knew better than to argue with him. There was once a time when he would, he'd punch the other and fight until one or both of them passed out, but he wasn't up for it anymore. He was tired of the childish fighting and his body couldn't handle it anyway.

The fridge was nearly empty and Mac wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to make dinner out of a few cans of beer and cat food. They didn't even have a cat. He never saw anyone take out those cans, but they still managed to dissapear. Charlie probably ate them when he was out. It was gross, but the man also drank paint and sniffed glue, so it wasn't exactly an unreasonable assumption. "Charlie," he sighed, "We are out of food."

"Dude, get some food then." Charlie replied, not moving from his spot.

Mac sighed again, louder this time. "Charlie, you haven't worked in ages. You haven't gotten the groceries in ages. Could you go out for once?"

He could see the changes on Charlie's face as the other looked up at him, narrowing his eyes. "Are you saying that I don't do anything here? Because, dude, newsflash- I'm the one who got this apartment in the first place. I'm the only friend you have. You can't afford to lose me."

It was an overreaction, but it was true. Charlie was, really, the only thing that Mac had. It made his gut twist uncomfortably, making him feel sick, but it wasn't a lie. He looked down, to the side, staring at the dirty floor. "Fine. I'm sorry." As if he was going to argue with the man drinking straight up paint. "I'll just- I'll go get some burgers or something, alright? Or, hell, there's cat food in the fridge if you really want that." Charlie barely acknowledged it, shrugging carelessly as Mac walked out the door.

* * *

 

Dennis Reynolds was a simple man who lived a simple life. At least, that's what he had people believing. All of Philadelphia seemed to eat out of the palm of his perfectly sculpted hand. He was a simple comptroller, and yet he was always invited to dinner with high ranking city officials and going out with beautiful, wealthy women. His job didn't give him much power at all, if it even gave him any, but his relationships made him a well known man in the mid to upper classes. He was charming, handsome, intelligent, and he had the wealth to back him up. His sister was an actress in indie films, living comfortably out in California. His mother was dead- a good topic for when he needed to gain the sympathy of others- and his father was a rich asshole who fucked whores and manipulated his business partners. He had happily distanced himself from that man long ago. He wasn't very much like either parent.

He didn't find that he looked very much like his parents either. He liked to look at himself a lot, fixing his suit jacket in front of the full length mirror that hung aside his bed. He looked charming as always, hair perfectly styled and suit fitted professionally to his perfectly carved body.

"Dennis Reynolds, you are a God." He murmured to himself, finally turning away from his reflection and heading to the door, wallet in pocket and keys in hand. He had a date with a rather dashing woman, a lovely brunette by the name of Caylee, a pharmacist who was good friends with one of his coworkers. He'd use his system, get her in bed, then he'd let her go and move on. No woman was interesting enough to pursue beyond that. They were lucky if he even texted them back after engaging them physically. Sometimes, though, he'd carefully make them dependent on him, make them fall in love and fuck them again before leaving them. Heartbroken.

It was nothing against them personally, it was just his special little system. Women were just so easy to manipulate- especially when your reputation was too good for anyone to believe them if they spoke poorly of you. Not that he gave them reason to, but the safety cushion was nice.

It was a quick drive to the restaurant, his apartment being in a nicer part of the city, within close proximity to many fine restaurants. He chuckled to himself when he parked, being greeted by the staff as he walked in. He was there quite often. Guigino's was his favorite restaurant, after all- they had excellent fish and the spaghetti somehow managed to be much more magnificent than any other he'd had. The service was always a bit shaky, but they knew him well and escorted him to his table.

The woman was already there, lips painted a flattering shade of pink, hair loose and wavy and wearing a- in Dennis's opinion- rather tacky white dress. Wearing white to a dinner date was inconvenient in case of stains, and the shape of the dress covered her body much too well for Dennis to decide if it was up to par.

"So, you're Dennis?"

Her voice was light and friendly, interrupting his thoughts the second he sat down. It was off-putting to hear her initiate conversation, but he decided to let it slide. "I am, yes. And you must be Caylee. You look lovely tonight, I love the dress, a very fine choice." He was lying through his teeth, but he was a good liar, he kept his voice perfectly even. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

She let out a soft laugh and shook her head. "Don't worry, you didn't. It gave me time to look at the menu. Now we don't have to wait for me to make a decision."

Wait for her to make a decision? Dennis struggled not to make a face at that comment. It was classless for a woman to order for herself. Was she not used to being around five star men such as himself, or was she one of those prudish women who insisted on acting powerful because they were mad they couldn't get laid? Either way, he remained turned off.

"Oh." He nodded, letting a bit of surprise show in his voice. "I thought I'd order for you. I like to treat my dates, you see, show them how to appreciate a meal with better flavor." Her face contorted into a confused expression- it looked bad on her, really- to which he responded, "Or you can order for yourself. A gentleman such as myself would never want to make a lady feel as if she has to put aside her prudish and self-centered attitude."

She laughed, obviously a bit uncomfortable now, hands fiddling with the corner of the napkin sitting in her lap. "I- well, I didn't mean to come across that way. I just thought it would be convenient if I had my mind made up already."

"Oh, make up your mind, go ahead! You just go ahead and make all the decisions. Might as well tell me what to do then, hm? Seeing as you're apparently in charge of everything."

"Dennis, I-"

"No, no, it's just fine! You take care of it. Order for the both of us, go ahead."

She looked taken aback, but it wasn't his fault that she had to be so obnoxious. Too much confidence made a woman ugly, it made them too hard to manipulate, and Dennis could not stand it. First deciding her own dinner and next she would be deciding where Dennis should eat and what he should wear, and it was all a downward spiral of a woman trying to control him. She still looked rather upset when the waiter arrived but she did as Dennis had said and ordered for the both of them. He could sense the tension in her body.

The meal was far from excellent. It was boring, actually, she had ordered plain spaghetti. Plain. She claimed to have some sort of tomato allergy, which Dennis ruled to be bullshit. She just wanted him to feel inferior. He could tell. He'd show her. They'd get into the bedroom and he'd make her feel so good that she wouldn't be able to even remember her own name. The corners of his lips twisted up into a smirk just thinking of it.

They ate in silence. Caylee glanced nervously up at him a few times, and he'd occasionally catch her staring. He didn't say anything until the end of the meal, watching her sip wine as he spoke.

"You are beautiful, you know. I'd love for you to come back to my place. Get to know you a bit better. How does that sound?"

She smiled, just a tiny bit, and nodded. "That sounds very nice, Dennis, thank you."

He would've laughed if not for her sitting right in front of him. Of course she said yes. She fell right into the palm of his hand the second he gave her an apologetic look and paid the bill, tipping the waitress generously just to show off. She even accepted his offer to drive her to the apartment with him, claiming that she had a cab bring her to the restaurant and didn't have to worry about a car being left in the parking lot. He left the radio on, low, rumbling music about love and sex playing in the background. He could tell she was looking at him most of the drive home. He could sense the tension in her body as well as the eager anticipation.

"You know," he began as he led her to his bedroom. "It's not every day that I meet such a beautiful young woman such as yourself." He placed his suit jacket onto a coat hanger in the hall of his apartment, taking hers and hanging it up as well. "It's been a while since I've had any women here. It's caused me to build up a bit of... stress..." He turned as they reached the doorway, giving her a look akin to a pout before guiding her inside the room and ungracefully smashing their lips together.

Smashing was a very accurate description of it. He shoved her against the wall and just went in, much to her surprise, and kept kissing as her hands pushed at his shoulder. When he finally pulled away she let out a high, shaky laugh. "Dennis- Dennis!" She laughed, eyes wide. "I normally don't do this on the first date."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because you've lead me on quite a bit tonight, Caylee. Looking at me longingly all night, agreeing to come back home, staring at me in the car. And now you just want to talk? Please. That's pathetic, Caylee. It makes me regret ever going out to dinner with you. I don't need a wishy-washy woman in my apartment. Go!"

"Wait- no- Dennis-" She hurried, looking startled. "Dennis, I didn't mean to upset you..."

As always, Dennis Reynolds got his way, and girl was gone by the time he woke up the next morning, leaving just a small note on the nightstand with seven neatly written digits. He threw it away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I didn't want to have Dennis and Mac meet for a while still but fuck that

"Now, now. Don't be so difficult, sweet little whore. You'll be so much fun for me and my boys, and I do pay generously."

Years ago just the thought of something like this would've had Mac laughing at how pathetic and unrealistic it was. Now, however, he found himself nodding, agreeing to be a bit of a human party favor for rich men. To be passed around like a cheap bottle of wine for anyone to take. It wasn't as if he'd never done anything like it before- he'd been in threesomes, gang-bangs, but being used as a toy for a home full of rich men? That was... different.

"How long will you need me for, hm?" Mac leaned in, turning his lips up into a tiny smirk.

"It begins at six in the evening, and I will require your services until the guests all leave. Let's make a deal, my darling- I pay you for three hours upfront. How does that sound?"

"How many men?" His voice was low, seductive, but had a sharp edge of control to it.

"It will be a large gathering. I could pay, perhaps, four hundred per hour?"

Four hundred dollars for a shit ton of men to tear his asshole to shreds. "Sure. Why not. I'll be there."

"I sure do hope so." The man winked, reaching around to give Mac's ass a firm squeeze. "You know where to find me. I'll see you then."

Mac slumped back against the brick wall of the alleyway the second the man was out of sight. His head was pounding and swimming and he was dizzy as fuck- very likely from sniffing the random shit Charlie brought home instead of food. It was making him feel a little nauseous and he was starting to realize that he needed to get the fuck home before he started feeling worse.

The door was locked. He could hear a woman moaning inside- a very unattractive moan if you asked him- and he could hear Charlie's soft, drunken grunts. He knocked on the door.

No response.

He knocked again.

Apparently Charlie and his whatever-the-fuck were deaf because the sounds of sex didn't quiet down even slightly. The kid was probably drunk and high and Mac didn't know if it was a client, a rapist, or some random bitch Charlie met at a bar. It could be anyone, really, and Mac wouldn't be too surprised. He was a bit relieved, if anything. Charlie getting laid meant he'd be too drowsy and blissed out to argue. It meant that Mac could actually get some damn sleep.

He knew Charlie wasn't trying to make things hard for him. He knew his old friend was too high to even remember who he was anymore, but he was still Charlie. He still had nightmares and he still had feelings and sometimes, on very rare nights, he'd wake up sober and cry to Mac about how everything was a mess. It would mess with Mac quite a bit, really, hearing Charlie's voice shake as he asked where they were and what was happening, what year it was, only to start freaking out about how he couldn't remember most years of his life. He'd ask what happened to his mom or where they were, or why Mac looked so tired.

Honestly, Mac didn't know what was more depressing. High Charlie or sober Charlie. Mac got high too, he drank a fair amount as well, but he wasn't an addict or an alcoholic like Charlie was. He could do just fine without either of the two.

He remembered the first time they got high- sitting in Charlie's mom basement and sniffing glue, flipping through cheap porno magazines and complaining about their teachers and the other kids in their classes. He remembered when they were fifteen and neither of them understood the whole 'gay' thing so they kissed. Almost all his memories before he was a prostitute involved Charlie.

Charlie's mom had been a hooker, it was only fitting that her son followed in her footsteps. She didn't even know where he was. For all Ms. Kelly knew, her precious son was dead. It was preferable to knowing how he actually lived.

Mac looked down the dark hallway, sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the dusty carpet outside his apartment. The noises had quieted down but he still had no desire to go in the room until whoever else was in there with Charlie came out. If he really wanted to get in he could always roundhouse kick the door but, quite honestly, the door was necessary. He didn't really have the energy to do it anyway.

His head started to drop, eyelids growing heavy, only to be startled back awake by a slamming door and the sound of someone stomping down the hall. He looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of blonde hair as someone walked out the door. He couldn't help but smile. Charlie always chose the blondes.

"Mac, man, I just had the best sex dude. It was so good. I'm not even high man, I just met this girl and we came back and fucked, it was great!"

Mac kept a straight face as he stood, not showing amusement or dissapointment. Not high, sure, but he could easily see that Charlie was drunk. "I'm proud of you, buddy."

It wasn't a lie but it wasn't the truth either. He was glad Charlie got laid, he was glad Charlie was happy, but he was dissapointed that he was still drunk. Dissapointed that a part of him was still terrified that Charlie might snap and attack him again. He didn't.

Charlie happily led Mac inside and to the mattress, blabbering on about how he actually got the bedsheets cleaned and how great they'd be able to sleep on clean sheets. Mac couldn't help but smile.

It was almost like being a teen again, falling asleep on the couch with his best friend.

* * *

 

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Charlie- fucking hell man. I'm late, dude, this guy is gonna be so pissed, I'm supposed to be there in ten minutes and I'm not even dressed-"

"Mac! Mac! Calm down. Here." Charlie tossed him a poorly folded set of clothes, apparently still in a good mood from getting laid. Mac hummed out a thanks, pulling them on without even caring to check what they looked like on him. He quickly pulled himself together, washing his face and fixing his hair, flashing Charlie a rather pathetic smile before heading out to find the man's house.

Mac immediately was hit with the feeling that he did not fit in.

He stood out like a sore thumb, a boy in cheap fake leather pants and a tight muscle tee, hair greased back and lips plump and smooth, in a house full of men in button-up shirts and expensive dress pants. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the lacy fabric of his panties-which he'd gotten on sale at some crummy sex shop- shift around against his skin. He regretted wearing them, but he was there to be a fuck toy, not to make good impressions.

"There's my boy!" A deep voice interrupted his anxious thoughts, large hand settling on the small of his back. "You're late, darling. You know I'll have to dock your pay."

Mac nodded, looking up at him with his best apologetic expression. "I'm sorry. Are you gonna play with me now?" The words tasted sour in his mouth, fake. He didn't get how any of his clients believed a word he said. Heavy wallets led to big egos, apparently. Either that or they really were all idiots.

"Eager little thing, aren't you? I have a nice little set up in one of my living areas, you'll know when you see it."

Mac certainly did know when he saw it. The man had set up a thin foam sheet thing atop a large table, the room lined with couches and chairs and a box under the table filled with an assortment of lubricants and toys. Mac allowed himself to laugh quietly while no one was in the room. He didn't see the need for the setup. He would've been fine getting fucked on walls and floors.

"What's so funny?"

A smooth, low voice cut through the silence in the empty room, startling Mac just enough to make him flinch. He relaxed quickly, turning around to get a look at the person who spoke. A handsome young man stood in the doorway, a small smirk on his lips as he stepped forward. He looked about Mac's age, tall and slender, and Mac could see the mascara on his lashes, could make out the light dusting of blush on his cheeks. Cute.

"It seems my client has quite a collection of toys." Mac supplied easily, gesturing to the box. "It's nice to meet you. I am the... hired entertainment."

"Ah, the prized whore. Of course. What would a party be without one? Yet I never normally come across a fully clothed whore at a party. Then again, I am used to women." The man winked and then laughed, as if it were some sort of inside joke between two old friends. Mac really didn't understand rich dudes. He held out a hand." My name is Dennis."

"Are you here to make small talk or did you want to test the merchandise?" Mac teased, ignoring Dennis's hand and instead deciding to go along with the lighthearted banter. He wiggled his hips a little, playing it up.

"Cute." The other man's smirk grew. "But I know better than to handle someone else's property. See you around." He winked again and left the room.

Mac was almost dissapointed. That may have been the only man under fifty in the house, and the idea of being someone's property made him cringe. They did not own him, they were just paying him for a few hours of service. Like an electrician, or a clown at a child's birthday party.

He frowned. Bad comparison.

Knowing better than to try and make the guests be gentle with him, he was already prepped, wearing a plug under his panties and tossing a pile of condoms onto the table. He didn't need STIs from dying old people. Not that they were really that old, and they weren't all dying either, but he'd rather not have a bunch of come inside him at the end of the night. He stripped off his shirt, folding it neatly and placing it on the floor beneath the table, carefully reaching into his pants and pulling out the plug, setting it beneath as well before sitting up on the table and looking around the room.

The idea of being used by so many men did admittedly make him nervous, but he could always throw some punches and bring out some old moves if they tried to pull anything. He might've been a whore, but he was still a badass.

Finally, after waiting what seemed like a long while, a small group walked into the room. Mac flashed them a smile, looking them all up and down. At least they were all clean. At least he was being fucked somewhere clean, really, and not on dirty couches and floors. He did appreciate the effort.

"You the whore?" One of the men asked, lips turning up into a grin. "You're cute. Wanna bend over for me?"

Mac let out a fake laugh, nodding and turning around, bending over the table. "Like this? But then I can't see your handsome face."

The man laughed, a deep, loud laugh. "Would I stare at my hand while I jerked off? I don't need to stare at my toys, so don't complain, slut." Mac jolted as a large, calloused hand smacked against his ass.

"Sorry, sir." Mac quickly recovered, not resisting at all when a pair of hands began removing his jeans, a good few perverted comments being made on the panties.

Whatever. They looked totally badass.

He wiggled his ass a little, still bent over the table with it sticking up a bit in the air, and soon enough there were hands reaching between his legs and cupping him through the lace. He let out a soft groan, biting his lip as whoever it was continued to massage his bulge, getting him semi-hard in under a minute, his hips pressing down to get more friction.

"No wonder he's a whore, look at him. Grinding down on you like a bitch in heat." Someone commented, making the person directly behind Mac laugh. He knew better than to care about remarks made by clients and zoned out as more hands grabbed at his body.

There were hands on his ass, his hips, his waist, fingers pinching and pulling at his nipples, someone was pulling down his panties. He could feel the hot air against his bare skin, not even flinching when he felt something blunt and hard press against his asshole.

Well thank fucking God he used his brain and prepped himself before him. He hated when clients got greedy and impatient, but money was money.

His hands clenched into fists atop the table as he felt the head of a cock push in, and he wondered how the fuck these people got off on just ramming it in a few times. No foreplay, nothing. He gladly noted that he could feel the condom covering the dude's cock and he wouldn't have to make a scene about not wanting diseases.

It didn't hurt, really, it just burned, his hole stretching to accommodate the sudden and honestly unwanted intrusion. All of the men at the party seemed to fuck the same way- shove it in, do some unaimed thrusting, spray their sperm into the condom, pull out, make some stupid remark, then leave. By the end of the night he was sure he looked disgusting- there was no way his ass was tight at all by that point, if he was being honest with himself- it would go back to normal after a few hours or a day, but he could feel the bruises forming on his hips and the soreness in his ass. He let out a small, pathetic groan, panting softly as he laid on the table and tried to regain enough of his composure to be able to find his main client and get his cash.

"I see your asshole is now the size of a railroad tunnel." A smug voice commented from the doorway. Mac groaned in annoyance. The voice sounded very barely familiar and he had no idea who the fuck it was, but he really didn't need this bullshit.

"I'm not working anymore, I don't have to be nice to you, dicknose." He sat up, pushing his hair back out of his face and wrinkling his nose when he saw the young man from earlier. "Oh it's you, uh, Darrin? Daryl? Dean? Sorry man, I don't remember. What the hell do you want?"

"It's Dennis." The man huffed, slender arms crossing over his chest. "Normally I'd expect a whore from a lower class to treat me with respect, but I see you don't care for that."

"Why would I be required to treat you with respect? You're probably just here because you have a rich dad or some shit."

Bingo. Dennis's amused smile changed to a much more forced and annoyed one. "Oh? At least I'm not working street corners and shaking my ass for cash. At least strippers have some sense of pride. You whores just sleep with anyone."

Mac narrowed his eyes. "Listen dude, why the hell are you talking to me?"

"Trash like you is filling the streets of our beautiful city. I'm here to tell you that you should clean up before someone else has to take you out." Dennis flashed him a smug smile, back in his position at the top of the food chain. "Goodnight, whore. Don't let the crabs bite. Not that you can help it." He gave an annoying little wave and walked out.

Fucking rich boys. Mac's eyebrows furrowed, glaring at the now empty doorway. At least he got paid to suck old dude's cocks. That little rich bitch probably did it for free. Whatever. That was the point. He did it to get paid, and he had to go get that cash.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to call this chapter "I have never proofread a single thing in my life"

Dennis Reynolds woke up with a raging headache. He was tired and dizzy and he felt cold and hot at the same time. He could see his twin sister lying passed out on the floor beside him.

Great. They'd done coke again.

She was visiting for one week- just a week- and they'd been doing so well until the last two days. She looked like shit, in his opinion, blonde hair ratty and tangled, makeup smeared, skin blotchy and clammy. He had always been the better looking twin, but this- this was pathetic.

Then again, their little crack habit was pathetic. He was supposed to be a handsome, charming, wealthy, up-and-coming businessman. She was an actor in small films that made her plenty of money. And they were still smoking crack. It was so pathetic that he couldn't help but laugh, tapping at her sleeping form with his shoe.

"Dee. Dee. Deandra. Dee. Wake up you dumb crack whore, come on."

"Oh shut up, faggot." She grumbled, turning her head away from him.

He reached over and smacked her on the head, not hard enough to actually hurt, although she made a scene of yelling "Ow!" and swatting at his hand. He smirked a tiny bit as she turned back to look at him. "Dennis Reynolds you are an asshole." She muttered, reaching out to grab the bag that their crack had been in, groaning in defeat when she found it empty. "We're out of crack."

"Of course we're fucking out of crack, Dee. You're a greedy whore." He muttered, reluctantly sitting up. "Don't you have a flight to catch?

She groaned loudly, turning onto her stomach and pressing her face into the carpet, mumbling incoherently.

They were shitty to each other most of the time, but they were still twins. They shared a bond that surpassed petty relationships or falling outs. If the world ended, they'd have each other's backs in the end. They did love each other, they just had a funny way of showing it. Dennis Reynolds didn't share crack with just anyone. His twin sister was the only one he'd let see him when he got high like that. Despite everything, they always trusted each other.

It took a while for them to completely sober and wake up, taking turns cleaning themselves up in the bathroom of Dennis's apartment. Without makeup smeared on her face, Dennis could see how exhausted his sister looked. He hoped she didn't notice the same thing about him.

"You know," Dee started, fishing a bottle of wine out of the fridge. "It's way too hot out in California. I've missed Philly."

Dennis wrinkled his nose, examining an apple that he'd picked off the counter. "You missed Philadelphia? This place is a shithole." He scoffed, placing it back down after deciding that his face had looked just a little too fat that morning.

"People in LA just don't get it, Dennis. They're all so concerned about political correctness. Some producer even asked me about when I set my roommate on fire once- how's that their business? And then they had this black guy playing a part that was a white dude in the book, but I said something and everyone attacked me. I'm sorry, I didn't write the fuckin' book,"

Dennis tuned her out, not caring to listen as she got worked up as usual. He sighed, lazily looking around the apartment before speaking out. "Let's go out tonight, Dee. Nothing fancy, we can just find a shitty little bar somewhere that no one will know us. We can get drunk off our asses, it'll be relaxing."

She made a noise of agreement, nodding her head. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. That sounds nice."

"Good girl." Dennis cracked a smile and stood up, grabbing his jacket. "I've got work. You-" he pointed to the mess in the living area. "Clean up the crack, for god's sake."

She wrinkled her nose and opened her mouth to talk, but Dennis was out the door before he had to hear a single word she said. He had to get to his office and so some dumb bullshit, call some fat old idiots, order his secretary around, maybe jerk off during his lunch break. Whatever made the hours pass faster. He found himself actually looking forward to hanging out with Dee later.

"Mr. Reynolds, you have a call." Someone leaned into his office, sympathetic smile on their face. "She said it's urgent."

Fucking women.

Dennis sighed, nodding. "Transfer it to my line." He ordered, picking up the phone halfway through its first ring. He was unsurprised by the angry, girlish voice on the other end.

"Dennis Reynolds, you are an asshole!" The woman screamed into the phone. He sighed again, wondering who it was. He hadn't gone out with anyone since Dee had arrived, and if there was a woman still calling him after a week of not hearing from him- well, that was just pathetic, in his opinion.

"I'm sorry, who is this?" He kept his voice calm and collected, wrinkling his nose in distaste when she shouted back into the phone.

Caylee. The pharmacist.

"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number." He replied smoothly. "This is a place of business, not an outlet for your frustrations. Have a nice day." He hung up, huffing loudly as he sat back in his chair. Honestly, the only woman he could stand to be around was his sister- and even she pissed him off all the time.

* * *

 

The bar was unsurprisingly empty for a Monday. Dennis was easily able to find stools at the bar, sitting next to his sister under the dim lights. Even in jeans and a button up shirt he looked overdressed. There were what looked like homeless people crowded around at one of the booths. It smelt like dirt and cheap beer, but Dee looked happier than he'd seen her in a long while.

"Have you been here before?" Dennis asked, slowly taking a sip of his beer. "You look very... comfortable."

Dee just laughed, tipping her head back to drink. "It's nice to be around people who don't think they're better than everyone else, you know?"

Dennis frowned. He was better than everyone else. "Dee, we are surrounded by homeless men."

She punched his arm playfully, though it did hurt. "You look like a homeless man. You're drinking cheap beer in a scummy bar."

He was about to reply when he heard the door slam shut behind someone. He turned, locking eyes with a familiar face. Dark hair, sweet eyes, a perfect amount of stubble. If Dennis didn't know better, he'd say his heart just jumped in his chest. It was that dumb whore from the party a few weeks before. Dennis- thankfully- hadn't fucked him, but he'd watched the others. He quickly turned back to his twin.

"We should go."

"Oh cmon, Dennis. We just got here. I like it, lighten up."

Of course she'd like it, Dennis huffed, glaring down at the bar. Dee had dragged him to a bar for hobos and whores. He was a classy man, a five star man who deserved aged wine, not filthy beers in a bar that looked as if it hadn't been cleaned in years.

He heard the sound of a stool scraping and the shifting of floorboards as someone sat on top of it. He turned to his left, trying to hide his surprise at seeing Mac next to him. Mac raised an eyebrow, not breaking eye contact with Dennis, corners of his lips turning up in amusement.

"Hey there." His voice was low, as if he was exchanging a secret instead of a greeting, and Dennis suddenly understood why this man was doing the job he did. He was a professional.

Dennis offered him a forced smile, distaste showing clearly on his face as he eyed Mac up and down, taking note of the worn and dirty state of his clothes. "Are you talking to me?" He questioned.

Mac laughed, tipping his head to the side. "Yes you. I said hey. You're the only person other than the chick that looks to be under sixty years old in here."

"That chick is my sister." Dennis snapped defensively, taking a sideways glance at Dee. She was already on her fourth beer, downing it like her life depended on it.

"I never would've guessed." Mac cracked a smile and Dennis internally cringed. Did this man really think Dennis would empty his wallet on him?

"I know you, you know. You were at that dinner party a few weeks back." Dennis said, letting a smirk grow on his face. "Not surprised to see you in a shithole like this."

Mac's eyebrows furrowed and Dennis could see him growing defensive. "Do you expect me to remember you? You look just like every other rich brat I see hanging around those places."

Dennis scoffed, taking another sip of his beer. "You talk as if you're above me, you know that? The way you talk? Too bad that you're not."

"Not everything is about status. You rich dudes are so obsessed with making other people feel like shit. Sorry, man, but I could care less who you are. Do you want to fuck or not."

He spoke so bluntly that it caught Dennis off guard. "I'd rather not stick my cock into a cave full of STIs, thanks."

Dee snorted, leaning over to look at Mac. "You hear that? A cave. He called your ass a cave. That's funny." Dennis took a deep breath, reminding himself to relax and not call his sister a bitch, or a bird, or a whore.

Mac rolled his eyes yet again, arms folded over his chest. "That's really funny, dude. So funny. Tell that to the guys who pay a couple hundred bucks to fuck me, they'll love it." His eyes narrowed. "Why are you in here anyway? It's a Monday night and you're basically rich."

Dennis quickly pointed to Dee who's face split open into a wide, proud, drunken smile. "My friend Artemis comes here! Says it's a great bar. I dunno how true that is, though."

"Artemis Dubois?" Mac questioned, laughing when Dee looked shocked and nodded. "She makes good money with the kinky dudes."

Dee looked even more shocked, eyebrows raising comically. "Woah!"

"Gross." Dennis scoffed, eyebrows furrowed. "I am a rich, wealthy, intelligent man. I should not be around the likes of you."

"Shut up and drink your beer, Dennis."

* * *

 

Dennis's face got extremely red during sex. It should have been ugly- it was ugly- but Mac found it kind of hot. His legs were wrapped around the man's thin waist, hips lifting to meet his thrusts. Dennis was also loud, grunting and moaning and tipping his head back.

Mac wasn't that drunk. He was just a little bit drunk, a tiny bit, and Dennis was also mostly sober. Mostly. It didn't matter to Mac. He was making money getting fucked by what might have been the most beautiful man he'd ever seen, and it felt good. Dennis's cock was just thick enough, hard and angling upwards inside him.

"Fuck- Dennis- holy shit-" Mac cursed, hips shifting up, trying to meet his thrusts, crying out when Dennis's cock pushed up against his prostate. "Holy fuck. Holy shit." He normally just let out obnoxious pornstar moans, but the angle of his cock was just right and it was driving him crazy. It wasn't that Dennis was trying to make him feel good- the opposite, honestly, Dennis wasn't paying attention to anything other than himself. Mac's incessant moaning was just helping him get closer to orgasming. The wad of cash was already set atop the dresser. He was surprised that Dennis had paid for a nice hotel room, but, of course, men liked to show off.

He wasn't prepared for when Dennis came, hips snapping hard against Mac's ass, cock sloppily sliding in and out, finally stuttering to a stop buried inside him. He could feel the heat of the come filling the inside of the condom. Mac didn't come, mentally coaxing himself further away from orgasm as Dennis caught his breath and pulled out.

"You didn't come." Dennis mentioned as he buttoned up his shirt, condom tied and in the trash. As if he actually cared.

Mac laughed and rolled his eyes, still laid back naked on the bed. "I never come with clients, that's disgusting. You rich assholes don't turn me on." He wasn't lying. The contact against his prostate turned him on, yes, but this Dennis guy on his own? No. Yeah, sure, he was hotter than any of his other clients- but that was literally only because he wasn't over the age of fifty and going behind his wife's back. At least, he was pretty sure Dennis wasn't married. He sure as hell couldn't see anyone with half a brain marrying this douche.

Dennis seemed like a typical egocentric rich kid, most likely inheriting his money and status from his rich daddy. Even the way he'd asked for Mac's services oozed 'privileged white boy.' He'd refused to even flat out say what he wanted. Mac couldn't really complain, however, not now that he was a thousand dollars richer and got a night in a nice hotel by just servicing him for an hour.

"That's a shame. I would've offered to show off more of my talents-"

"You already fucked me, okay dude? You don't need to try and impress me with that 'sex god' bullshit." Mac scoffed, closing his eyes. "You can leave now."

"I paid for the room." Dennis argued. "You can leave."

Mac suddenly sat up, opening his eyes. "Dude, what the fuck? Why're you acting like such an asshole? We agreed on the pay."

"I gave you a thousand fucking dollars, you don't need a fucking hotel." Dennis sneered, arms crossed. "Whores don't belong in places like this. Not for more than a few hours at most."

Mac glared at him, getting up out of his bed and grabbing the cash in his fist. "Dude. You're an asshole. You have my number. Fuck you." He stormed out, ignoring Dennis's laughter. What a piece of shit. Either way, money was money. He was sore, though, and walking all the way home didn't seem fun, especially at this hour. He shoved the cash into his back pocket, huffing as he walked out the hotel door.

It was later than he thought. They'd been at the bar for a few hours, getting buzzed and talking, Dennis slowly working up to getting Mac in bed with him. The sex itself had only really lasted an hour, but Mac could tell it was nearly midnight. His neighborhood was a sketchy place to live, but it was nothing compared to the ones he'd have to walk through on the way there. He normally avoided them, but he figured walking through them just once couldn't do much harm.

His footsteps barely made noise as he walked down the street, making sure to stay under the streetlights. He could hear movements in the alleyways, could hear shouting in the apartments along the streets. He was only a block away from his apartment when he found himself being dragged out of the lights.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never proofread a single thing in my life I am so sorry

Mac was used to headaches. He wasn't, however, used to waking up behind unfamiliar buildings with them. His whole body ached, a feeling that wasn't unfamiliar, and he felt nauseous. He reached into his pocket, groaning when he realized his wallet was missing. Of course. Leave it to him to get drunk, let his guard down, and get robbed. Good fucking job, Mac. He almost wanted to pat himself on the back for being such an idiot.

He had to dust himself off when he stood, dark clothes covered in dirt and trash. He'd have to shower when he got back to the apartment. He felt gross, likely looked gross, and he'd lost fifty bucks and a small bag of weed. Typical. He really needed to stop getting drunk with strangers, especially the pretty ones.

It didn't take him too long to get home, dragging himself into the apartment. Charlie was passed out on the mattress. The apartment smelled like spray paint and Mac couldn't help but laugh. It was all so fucking typical. He didn't mind, though, it just meant that no one would bother him when he showered.

The water was cold. Big surprise. The god damn landlord had been ignoring their complaints about it for years, along with complaints about the heat, air conditioning, and electricity in general.

He ran the soap over his skin, making sure to scrub harshly, not caring when his skin was flushed red and raw, nails digging into his scalp when he washed his hair. He felt filthy, and normally it wouldn't bother him too much, but he really, really wanted to clean up.

He could hear his phone ringing in the other room. It was probably some dumb old client with money to burn. Whoever it was, they could wait. Mac was taking his time, going over and over with soap, rewashing his hair, watching dirt swirl down the drain, leftover makeup wiping off his face and rinsing away. He rarely had time to himself to actually clean up.

It even felt nice to wrap himself in one of their thin, scratchy towels. It was old and had a few holes in it, brought over the last time Miss Kelly visited. It had been a few years ago, if Mac remembered correctly. Charlie had been ignoring his mom's calls. Mac thought it was rude, but he couldn't talk. He hadn't seen his mom since high school, hadn't seen his dad since before he went to jail. He knew better than to try and visit.

Mac didn't take long to dry off, hair damp and floppy and falling in his face in a manner that was actually cute. He looked in the mirror as he finished drying out, and it was then that he released he was covered in bruises.

There was an ugly purplish-green bruise along his cheek, neck lined with hickeys, hips covered in tiny little bruises from fingers pushing against and grabbing at them. It wasn't a good look, and it meant he was going to have to use more makeup than he would've liked just to make his face look normal. He smeared concealer over the bruise on his cheek, blending it out so it didn't look so obvious, carefully applying a thin layer of eyeliner around his eyes. They were pretty, a light hazel that came out even more when surrounded with black.

He took a lot longer in the bathroom than he needed before finally walking out to grab his phone off a pile of dirty clothes.

He didn't recognize the number, but then again, there were only two people he actually had saved: Charlie, and Charlie's mom. He still had his mom's old number memorized, but who knew if she still had it, or if she was even still alive. He sighed and hit the button to return the missed call. They picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Yeah. You called. Who is this?" Mac raised an eyebrow, holding the phone to his ear.

"It's Dennis."

Mac let out a long, low sigh, rolling his eyes. "Hey there."

"Thought you'd sound more happy to see me."

Dennis sounded tired, voice still slightly slurred, and Mac couldn't help but roll his eyes again. Rich kids couldn't hold their alcohol, he'd learned, especially when it came to the cheap strong stuff. "It's like, not even noon, man, and I woke up in a fucking alleyway."

"Get raped or get paid?"

"I don't fucking know but I woke up with no cash, you pervert."

"Oh, you're fine." Dennis taunted, laughing on the other end. "Listen. How about you meet me later? Around eight? Outside the bar we went to last night?"

"Dude, screw you. I'm not walking home from your place or some hotel again, fuck that."

"I'll drive you home."

"You're a liar."

He could hear Dennis's loud, unsatisfied huff on the other end of the line. "I promise."

"You break the promise and I sell you out to the press." Mac threatened, hearing Dennis laugh at him.

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you tonight."

The line went dead and Mac turned off his phone, tossing it back onto the pile of dirty clothes. He turned to look at Charlie, still passed out on the floor, and sighed. Stupid rich boys. Of course he'd meet Dennis later, he wasn't an idiot, but he wouldn't hesitate to sell him out if he could make good money out of it.

Of course, he'd dealt with rich men before, but not anyone who's career relied on elections.

He pushed the thought out of his head and went to get dressed, throwing on a cheap green shirt he'd gotten from a bar a few years back. The lettering was too faded to read, thread warn away at the seams, but it still worked as a shirt. He already had a client, and he didn't feel like roaming street corners, so he didn't care to dress up.

"Mac?" He turned at the sound of Charlie's loud, gravelly voice, noticing the other man was now sitting up on the mattress, bags dark and puffy under his eyes. "Do we- uh- do we have any drugs around?"

Fuck. Charlie was sober.

"No, I got mugged. I mean, I had weed, but I woke up behind a dumpster and it was all gone."

Charlie's eyes widened as he nodded slowly, scanning the room. When he spoke again, his voice shook. "I'm sober, Mac."

Mac was sure he hadn't heard those words come out of Charlie's mouth in at least a few months. He knew Charlie, could hear the wavering in his tone and see the childlike fear gleaming in his widened eyes. It reminded him of why Charlie was always getting high.

"No drugs for a little while, okay Charlie? Just stay around here. You'll be okay."

Charlie paled. "I need drugs, dude, like- I haven't been sober in- I don't know what to do- what if-"

Mac knew that he couldn't just hug it out and calm Charlie down. He'd learned the hard way, watching Charlie break down and scream and grow even more panicked if Mac touched him. He could tell that Charlie was working himself up into a panic.

"Drugs will make it worse. I'll go out tonight, I'll bring home some spaghetti, okay? We can play cards or something. Do you need to talk?"

Charlie drew his knees up to his chest, gaze darting frantically around the apartment. "Do you have to go to work today?" When Mac nodded, his face fell even more. "But. But I don't want you to."

"Just one client, okay? Just one, I promise. I won't be gone very long. And it's not until tonight."

"You're my best friend." His eyes flickered around more. "What day is it?"

Mac quickly stated off the day and month, feeling his heart sink at Charlie's shocked expression. Days blended together when you never were sober. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a real conversation with Charlie.

"Have I worked at all? Has my mom called?"

"No, and yes. She calls all the time. She probably thinks you're dead." Mac joked, shrugging it off when Charlie didn't react. "Maybe you should visit her."

Charlie visibly tended. "Jack could be there."

"Dude, you're in your thirties. That guy can't hurt you."

"Jack could be there."

"He can't hurt you."

"Jack could be there."

Mac sighed when Charlie said it the third time and moved to sit next to him on the dirty old mattress. "He could. Maybe just wait then. You don't have to go anywhere you don't want. I've got us covered."

"What happened to that girl?"

"The girl who was in the apartment a while ago?"

"No- no, that waitress chick from a few months back."

Mac visibly winced. He remembered her. Charlie had been out for coffee early in the morning while on ecstasy and he'd met some coffee shop waitress. He'd hit on her, she was disgusted- probably because he looked and smelled like he slept with a family of rats. It ended up with him being banned from the shop. He'd even followed her around for a few weeks before he got too high to remember what he was doing.

"I don't know, honestly." Mac sighed. "She was kind of gross, anyway. Very plain."

Charlie furrowed his eyebrows. "No. She was beautiful. You're just gay."

"You could do better anyway." He saw a trace of a smile on Charlie's lips and couldn't help but smile a little himself. "Hey- why don't we plug in the old keyboard and play around a bit?"

* * *

 

'A bit' had turned into hours of messing around with the keyboard, singing out of key and laughing and jamming in the keys as if they were still fifteen year old boys who didn't have to worry about anything else. He had actually, for the first time in a while, been reluctant to leave the apartment. He lost track of time, and by the time he got to the bar to meet Dennis, it was past eight thirty. Dennis was still there- albeit standing with his arms crossed and his handsome face twisted into an ugly scowl.

"Took your time, didn't you." Dennis snapped, eyeing Mac up and down.

"Sorry, baby." Mac soothed, quick to fall back into the act now that he was with Dennis in person. He walked up, draping his arms over Dennis's shoulders. "I'll make it up to you, I swear."

He watched as the other man's grimace slowly turned up into a smirk, tipping his head to the side. "Oh, will you? How so?"

"Take me somewhere and I'll show you." Mac leaned in, only to be pushed away, Dennis grabbing his wrist and leading him into the cheap bar. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"Shut your mouth, dude." Dennis grunted, pulling him into the men's bathroom. The thing was filthy- the whole bar was filthy, actually, it shouldn't have been a surprise- and Mac was less than thrilled.

"Do you have to piss or something? What the fuck?"

Dennis shoved him toward the last stall. "Just shut up and go in, holy fuck."

Mac huffed, making sure to display his annoyance, but got into the stall. He could hear the closing of another stall door accompanied by the click of a lock, and then a belt being unbuckled and a zipper sliding down. He could hear the soft sound of skin on skin before it went silent.

Then there was a semi-hard dick sticking through the wall.

Okay. Mac knew that rich dudes tended to have weird and unrealistic porn-based fantasies, but really? Really? This dude was sticking his cock through a jagged hole in the wall of a filthy bathroom. Who the hell knows who else's dick had been in there? Mac was glad that he couldn't see Dennis's face right then, because he would've laughed in it.

Instead, Mac moved to kneel on the filthy tile flooring, softly flicking his tongue over the slit before wrapping his lips around the head of his cock. He was careful to keep his teeth tucked under his lips as he sucked softly on the head, fingers wrapping around the shaft to feel it slowly harden in his hand. The dude's dick was fucking long. It was like a goddamn cucumber or something. Mac knew how to deepthroat, but if he tried with this one, it wouldn't be comfortable.

He slowly started moving his hand along the shaft, jerking him off as he sucked on the head, occasionally pulling of to teasingly lick over the sky. He could taste bitter, salty precome leaking onto his tongue. It should've been gross. It wasn't.

Mac could hear a low groan from the other side of the flimsy wall as he took more in, his mouth wrapped around half of Dennis's cock, slowly bobbing his head as he sucked. He'd had plenty of practice, he knew how to give a blowjob. Knew how to keep them lasting as long as he could, get his money's worth. Mac purposely moaned around Dennis's cock, making sure he could feel the vibrations against it. Dennis was fully hard now, heavy in Mac's hand and against his tongue.

He could feel his knees growing damp from kneeling on the floor, wet with who-knows-what, and he was pretty sure he'd heard the bathroom door open and close a few times, but it didn't matter. He was making money and he didn't even have to look at the douchebag's face. Just had to suck cock, one of his greatest talents.

He slowly took in more, inch my inch, until he'd reached the base of what was available through the glory hole. He could feel Dennis's cock throb against his tongue as he sucked, pulling off before taking him all the way in again. He could feel the head of Dennis's cock pressing against the back of his throat. He fought his gag reflex, precome smearing over his tongue whenever he pulled off for air. He took short, gasping breaths each time before going back down on Dennis. At least he was clean. Mac could tell when a man hadn't washed his cock in a while. Dennis smelled like natural musk and strawberry shampoo, a nice change from the usual body odor and cigarettes.

He took him in all the way, swallowing around him, moaning and humming and sucking softly, just to feel Dennis's cock twitch in his mouth before hot spurts of come began shooting down his throat. Some of it dribbled into his tongue, bitter and sticky. He swallowed it all anyway, making sure to suck out every last drop before pulling away.

Dennis's cock moved back over to the other side of the wall and Mac rolled his eyes, standing up and looking down in disgust at his knees. Gross. He took a minute to catch his breath before exiting the stall, arms crossed over his chest.

"Thanks." Dennis smirked, shoving a wad of cash into Mac's hand as he walked out. Mac grabbed his arm.

"Leaving? No you fucking don't. You're driving me home."

"I paid you, bitch. Screw off."

Mac tightened his grip. "You said you'd drive me, so you'll fucking drive me."

Dennis grit his teeth, glaring back at him. "Fine. Let go and I'll bring you to my car."

Mac smirked triumphantly, letting go and following Dennis outside. He was parked a little ways down the street. Mac was surprised that he had an older looking Range Rover, the dude was rich, Mac had expected an expensive car. Or, at least, a newer one. He couldn't complain, though- he didn't have any sort of car. Dennis actually opened the door for him, letting Mac get in first before walking around to get in.

"What's your name?" Dennis asked, glancing over at him as he started the car. Mac grimaced, shifting in his seat. He didn't give his name to clients.

"None of your business."

Dennis laughed, pulling out of his parking spot. "I'm paying to fuck you, I'd like to know your name."

"Keep being pushy and everyone will associate yours with paying for whores."

Dennis raised an eyebrow, corners of his lips turning up just slightly. "Is that a threat?"

Mac shrugged. "Keep treating me like shit and it will be."

Dennis laughed, shaking his head. "I don't believe you. You'll keep sucking my cock and swallowing my come for cash, no matter what I say to you. You'd fuck me in the backseat of my car right now if I asked."

"Are you asking?"

"Maybe I am."

"Then pull over."

* * *

 

Mac was once again stretched around Dennis's cock, pinned down in the back seat of his Rover, his nails digging into Dennis's back as he thrusted in hard, making Mac's hips jerk and his breathing turn shaky. Dennis was actually touching Mac's cock, jerking him off, thumb rubbing in teasing circles around the head, watching in amusement as Mac's eyes squeezed shut, lips parted as he moaned.

Dennis loved it.

He could get with anyone, really, but when he paid for it, Mac had to do everything he asked. He had power over the whore, could say whatever he wanted, do whatever he wanted. He could ruin Mac for a couple of bucks an hour. The control is what gave him the thrill, cock twitching as he thought about it.

He reached up with his free hand, fingers wrapping around Mac's neck and squeezing softly. Mac gasped, eyes flying wide open in shock. Dennis squeezed tighter when Mac tried to speak.

"Sh, baby boy. I'll pay you for it." Is what he said. _I like seeing you lose your control, seeing you watch me and wonder desperately what I'm going to do to you_ is what he thought.

Mac's eyes rolled back as Dennis changed the angle of his thrusts and gave his cock a squeeze, slamming into his prostate just to hear his breathless moaning. Mac couldn't argue with him, wouldn't, because Mac just wanted cash. Dennis knew that. Dennis was taking advantage of it.

Mac's face was bright red, embarrassed by how turned on he was by the slim fingers wrapped tightly around his throat, fighting to breathe, cock hot and heavy in Dennis's other hand. His head was swimming, stars dotting his vision, and he couldn't help the noise he made as he came all over Dennis's fist and his own chest. He hadn't came with a client in a while, and it was embarrassing every time he did.

"You came." Dennis murmured, leaning in to whisper in Mac's ear, hot breath making Mac shiver. "All over. I thought you didn't come from clients, hm? You lied to me."

Mac let out a strangled moan as Dennis continued thrusting into his prostate, a few more well aimed thrusts before he pushed all the way in and came. Mac could feel the hot fluid filling the condom. He let himself go limp against the seat, panting softly as Dennis let go of him and slid out. He was still regaining his breath as Dennis tied the condom and threw it out the window, climbing back into the drivers seat.

"Alright, let's get you home then."

Mac pulled his clothes back on as quickly as he could before climbing into the passenger seat and nodding. "Yeah. My roommate is gonna be wondering where I am."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't proofread and I didn't hit 2000 words either hhh sorry. Also! Warning- there's a rape flashback and homophobic slurs.

Dennis couldn't stop thinking about Mac.

Dee was back in LA, and when he'd texted her she'd called him stupid, so he was stuck alone in his apartment thinking about some loudmouthed whore he'd only met two or three times. Some whore that acted as if Dennis wasn't high above him. It pissed Dennis off. It turned him on. It made gaining control so much sweeter. But did control really count if you just paid for it instead of earning it? Especially when Mac acted as if he had the control. The thoughts left a sour taste in his mouth, so he shifted to thinking about how soft his lips felt.

Mac had been a really good fuck. He sucked cock like a pro, took it like a pro, and he was so fucking pretty. His eyeliner was always a bit uneven and a tad too smeared, but his eyes were wide and hazel and dropped at the corners and when they rolled back in his head, Dennis could feel his heart jump into his throat. Mac moaning, eyes rolling back with pleasure, it was a sight to see.

And then, somehow, the whore's skin was so smooth, so hot and perfect against Dennis's own. His voice, too, just the thought of it made his pulse race.

He hadn't been able to get Mac out of his head. Mac hadn't been answering his calls for a while now, and Dennis was getting anxious. Sure he'd only slept with the dude a few times, but that meant Mac should've been loyal to him. He was a loyal customer. He paid well. He looked and felt really, really fucking good, and Dennis had the money in the situation, had the control.

So why wasn't Mac calling him back?

He was a god- a golden fucking god- the most handsome man in Philadelphia! How dare some cheap whore ignore someone like him? Mac was lucky that Dennis even gave him a second thought. Dennis was rich, he was handsome and important, he should be a priority.

He glared at his reflection in the mirror, brows furrowed, forehead wrinkled and nose scrunched up in annoyance. This was ridiculous. He shouldn't have been getting so worked up over a whore not returning his calls. He could have sex with anyone he wanted. He didn't need someone he had to pay for. He could just go buy some other whore. He had endless possibilities. He didn't need Mac.

He glared down at his phone as he dialed Mac's number again, listening to it ring over and over before going to voicemail. Dennis wanted to scream and throw his phone but he held back, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. It was dumb to fuck a prostitute anyway. Dennis Reynolds was a classy man.

An obsessive, possessive, mentally unstable man with a god complex that controlled his life.

Not that he ever thought of himself like that. Seeing his own flaws was not something he liked to do. He was blinded with fake, forced vanity. As far as he was concerned, everyone should have wanted him.

His expression darkened the longer he looked at himself.

"You are a god." He told his reflection before finally turning away and leaving the room.

* * *

 

Mac was proud. Charlie had been sober for almost two weeks now. Mac had been staying sober as well- it wasn't nearly as hard for him. As proud as he was, he still felt guilty everytime he woke up to Charlie shaking and staring blankly at the wall, hands clenched into fists so tight that his palms were bleeding where his nails dug into them. Charlie had never looked so exhausted before. He barely ate, face sunken in, dark bags sunken under his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time Charlie had changed his clothes or showered.

Mac reached over, draping his arm over Charlie's shoulders. "We should go out to dinner."

"With what money?" Charlie's voice cracked as he turned to look at Mac, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights.

Mac was never good at comforting people, but he tried, gently carding his fingers through Charlie's filthy hair. "I have some left over, it's okay."

"I need to work again." Charlie's voice changed suddenly to a whisper, gaze darting nervously around the room. "I can't remember anything, Mac. Like- dude- I don't know when we moved here, or where this is, or anything. I'm so fucking confused."

Sober Charlie was scarily open, horribly vulnerable, and Mac didn't like being able to see straight through his best friend so well. "I think it's better that you don't remember most of it, honestly. It's been bad."

"Have I hurt you?"

Mac took a deep breath, eyes shut, only opening them once he finished his slow exhale. "That doesn't matter anymore."

Charlie reached over to hug Mac, frowning when he automatically flinched away. "So- so why is it okay when you touch me, but you're scared if I try to touch you?"

"You're not Charlie on all those drugs, okay? You didn't do anything wrong." Mac argued, not making eye contact, instead opting to stare at the floor. He could hear his phone ringing on the floor somewhere. He ignored it.

"Did I hit you?"

"Sometimes. It's okay, I'm tough."

"Then why do you flinch?"

"Charlie, man, it doesn't matter, okay? Just stay sober. As long as you're not high, it's okay."

Charlie nodded slowly. After that, it was silent for a while.

"I don't remember any of it, but-" Charlie finally spoke. "I still feel hands on me. Does that make sense? I feel dirty."

"That might just be the fact that you never shower." Mac joked, but Charlie didn't laugh.

"No, not like that. There's still hands touching me? I feel them and- and all I can think of is my uncle, but I know it's not him, I just feel gross, Mac."

"Part of the job." He shrugged, looking down at the floor. "I really should get back to work soon. Or at least go to the store and get some food."

Charlie nodded in quiet agreement and they sat in silence for a while again before Mac stood up. He walked over to the stove, opening it up and pulling out a cheap disposable pan. They never used the oven, so he stored their cash in it. He pulled out a small wad and shoved it in his jeans pocket, heading for the door. Then Charlie spoke and he froze.

"Have we had sex before?"

_"Cmon Mac, cmon! You fuck dudes all night, just fucking relax man!"_

_He let out a strangled cry as Charlie pulled at his clothes, his childhood best friend clearly high out of his mind, worse than Mac had ever seen him. He wasn't even really Charlie when he was this high, but he was too focused on the white hot fear pulsing through him._

_He'd never felt weaker than when he pushed at Charlie and couldn't get him off, the other man finally succeeding at tearing his pants off of him, laughing when he realized there was no underwear beneath. Mac's breathing was coming in short, panicked gasps as he thrashed on the dirty mattress, trying to avoid the hands grabbing at him._

_"Charlie- Charlie- cmon. It's Mac. Your best friend? You don't really wanna do this, you don't-"_

_He was interrupted by a hand fisting in his hair and smashing his face down, hard, into the mattress. Mac's whole body jerked, feeling his face smash into the mattress and against the hard floor beneath. His cheeks were wet, he could feel blood starting to trickle out of his nose, and those fucking hands were holding lube, sloppily pouring it over his hole as two fingers forced in._

_He jerked away and was met with a harsh slap to the ass and a hysteric yell to, "Stop fucking moving, goddamnit dude!" As if he wasn't supposed to react when his best friend was forcing two fingers up his ass on his first night off in weeks. The one person he was supposed to be able to trust on top of him, yelling at him to shut up so he could have his way with him. Charlie had gotten angry before, he'd hit Mac, he'd thrown things, but he'd never once tried to force himself on him._

_The two fingers spread, scissoring and opening Mac up to make room for a third finger, sloppily twisting in and trying to loosen him up more. It didn't feel like preparation- it felt painful- inexperienced fingering. He choked down a sob, muffled into the mattress. Was this God's punishment for being a fag? He should've stopped Charlie from taking so many drugs. He should've gone to work. He shouldn't have started arguing with Charlie, he shouldn't have made him mad- it was all his fault, all his fucking fault for being a stupid, stupid fag and a whore._

_Mac couldn't hold back his sob when the three fingers were roughly torn from him. He tried to press his legs together, only to have them pulled back apart before the three fingers pushed right back in._

_He was a fag. He was a whore. He was a fag and a whore and his best friend was forcing his cock up his ass and Mac couldn't stop crying into the mattress like a little bitch. It was God's plan, God's punishment. He sinned too much, it was his fault. He deserved it. He deserved the ache and the shooting pain as Charlie forced inside him, the nails digging into his hips that were sure to be breaking the skin. His body trembled with each sob, thankful for the mattress to muffle the noises he made._

_He'd always been proud of his body. He worked hard on his muscles, he had a nice ass, a nice face, but he'd never hated himself more than he did when Charlie hissed, "You've got a great body for a whore. You were built to be one," and he laughed. He laughed while Mac trembled and sobbed and silently prayed God for forgiveness. He was sorry for sinning so much. Oh fuck was he sorry. He never thought his life would turn into such a mess_.

Mac shook his head, not turning around. "No. We've never had sex. I'll be back soon, okay?" He turned the knob and walked out, letting the door gently fall shut behind him.

Charlie frowned. The way Mac spoke seemed odd, but Mac wouldn't lie to him. He sat on the mattress, leaning his back against the wall, and shut his eyes. He felt so fucking cold. He wanted his drugs.

It was okay. Mac would take care of him. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day and this is over 3000 characters please love me I am trying

"Mac." Charlie whined, pressing his face against his chest. "Mac. Who keeps calling you? Your phone keeps buzzing. Who's calling? Also, when you were at the store yesterday, the landlord stopped by- Mac, we're really behind on rent."

Mac groaned, tipping his head back. Living with Charlie was like having a kid sometimes. "I'll go back to work, but you gotta promise not to start shooting shit up when I'm not around."

Charlie nodded slowly. "Okay. I should try and talk to the waitress again. Now that I'm, like, sober and stuff. Do you think that'll work, dude?"

Mac snorted, gently pushing Charlie away so he could get up and retrieve his phone. The same number had been calling him constantly for the past few weeks. "You do you, Charlie." He picked it up, furrowing his brows. He didn't recognize the number. It was probably a client. He could hear Charlie mumbling and scuffling around behind him as he pressed the call button.

Dennis picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hi, yeah? Dude, who is this?"

"Dennis Reynolds, you ass. I've been calling you for weeks."

Mac scoffed. "Yeah, I noticed. What do you need?"

"I need you to fucking pick up your phone and drag your ass over here to get fucked when I want you."

Mac's eyebrows raised almost comically. "I have a life other than you, you know. Things to do besides sleeping around."

"Like what? You probably just smoke and drink until you pass out and then fuck some more dudes. Don't try and lie. Come over so I can fuck you. You should be grateful that someone like me even wants you."

Dennis was so fucking rude. Mac almost wanted to go meet him, if only to punch him in the face. "Aw, you want me, hm?"

"Stop being a stupid fucking bitch, kid. You're really starting to piss me off. Get your ass over here."

"Over where? You didn't say shit about where to meet."

"Guigino's."

Mac practically choked on his next breath. Fucking Guigino's? Mac was a whore. The best clothes he had were fake leather. He smelled like cheap perfume and alcohol. He was broke as fuck. "I can't fucking waltz into the fanciest fucking restaurant in Philadelphia, you idiot."

"With me you can. Did you forget who I am?"

"I have nothing to wear." Mac argued.

"I can lend you clothes." Dennis's voice was finally softening. "I haven't seen you in weeks."

"Dude. We've met, like, twice." Mac's brows furrowed. The dude was acting as if they were long lost friends or something. Even if he did use his clothes, Dennis was too thin, dangerously thin. Mac had muscles.

"Shut up. I need an excuse to go out for lunch. Just meet me at Guigino's."

Mac was about to complain when Dennis hung up.

"Charlie, what the fuck." Mac turned, holding up his phone. "Why are people such douchebags?"

Charlie shrugged, quickly shoving something under the bedsheets and looking away. "I dunno."

Mac raised an eyebrow, looking down to where Charlie had hidden his hands. "What do you have?"

"Nothin'."

"Move the sheets then."

"Nope. I'm cold."

Mac narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. He could see a glint of white on the tip of Charlie's nose. "Charlie." He warned. "What do you have."

It was like talking to a child who'd snuck into the cookie jar when his mother wasn't looking. Charlie's eyes were wide as he stared down into his lap, shoulders slumped, trying to make himself as small as he could. Mac had to walk the rest of the way over, pull the sheets up himself. He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before picking up the small plastic bottle.

"Glue, Charlie? Glue? Really?" The top was missing and some had smeared down the side of the plastic. "Where'd you even get this?"

"... dollar store." Charlie mumbled.

"Do I have to search the fucking apartment for drugs?" Mac could be patient. Mac liked to think he was calm and supportive, when in reality he was hotheaded and hard to get along with. He narrowed his eyes. "You've been drinking too, haven't you? You've fucking reeked of alcohol."

"You're not my mom." Charlie mumbled, eyes darting side to side, focusing on the glue bottle. He reached up, snatching it out of Mac's hands and quickly putting it up to his nose, inhaling deeply straight from the bottle, yelping and falling back when Mac grabbed for it. "It's mine!"

"Give me the damn bottle!" Mac demanded, grabbing Charlie's wrist. "Stop acting like a crazy fucking druggie!"

Mac was supposed to be cleaning up. He was supposed to be going to a nice restaurant to eat for free and get paid for it. Now he had to check for drugs.

"Don't tell me what to do! Don't call me that, man!" Charlie's voice went up an octave, refusing to hand over the bottle. "It's just glue!"

"I have to fucking work, Charlie! I have to go to goddamn work and now I have to stay and babysit you! You're like a fucking kid!"

He saw a flash of hurt across Charlie's face, but he didn't regret yelling. He'd been practically babysitting for weeks, watching Charlie act like a sad puppy.

"You're a bastard man!" Charlie finally blurted out, throwing the bottle at Mac. Glue splattered out as it hit him, getting on his clothes, sticking to his skin and his hair.

Mac fucking snapped.

He lunged forward, grabbing Charlie's wrists, pinning him down to the bed. Charlie glared back at him. Mac kept his grip. "You keep fucking acting like this and I will beat your ass to pulp, got it? You're gonna fucking kill yourself with drugs, you fucking dumbass. Do you not fucking want to get better?"

Charlie lifted his head and spit in Mac's face, causing him to jerk back in disgust. Charlie used it to his advantage, grabbing Mac's wrists and pinning him down instead, slamming his knee into Mac's crotch to stop him squirming and fighting so much. "You're not my mom! I'm an adult! Don't tell me what to do! You're just a whore! You're a whore, Mac! Dirty!"

"Fuck you!" Mac snapped back, voice cracking. He'd pressed his legs together, panting softly at the pain between them. "At least I have a job!"

"Yeah, a job taking a ton of dicks up your ass for cash because you're a cheap whore. A gay whore! What would God say now, oh boy!"

"Let me go!" Mac shouted, glaring tearily up at Charlie. The position was starting to freak him out a little too much.

"How much can you take, Mac? You think you're so much better than me, but I'm not the one taking cock next to dumpsters. You're not any better than me, Mac!"

Mac's breath was shortening, becoming quicker, more panicked. "Let go, Charlie."

"Does it make you feel important, Mac, that people pay to fuck filth like you-"

"At least I don't drug myself to death to forget about all the people who fucked me!"

Charlie finally let go of Mac's wrists to punch him in the face, enjoying the snapping sound when his fist made contact. He shoved himself off of Mac, spitting down at him, kicking him in the side before storming out of the apartment. The door slammed behind him.

Mac bit his lip, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He didn't cry. He wasn't a crier. There was blood dripping out of his nose, covered in filth where he now laid on the floor. He reached for his phone, dialing Dennis's number.

"I'm sorry. I can't meet you today."

* * *

 

Dennis surprised himself with how quickly he was getting in his car to drive over to the place Mac had given him directions to. For all he knew, it was a drug den, or some cult, or mafia, or just someone there to rob and kill him. A refined, wealthy, attractive man such as himself shouldn't have been driving through dirty neighborhoods based on directions from a whore. He really was getting lonely. He laughed at himself, he couldn't help it- it was a bit pathetic. He was glad that it was at least light outside. He'd never come to a shithole place like this at night.

If the places he drove through to get to Mac's apartments were shitholes, he didn't even know what Mac's neighborhood was. He was pretty sure that he'd heard a gunshot at one point while he was parking. This dingy little building couldn't really hold Mac's apartment, right? Dennis wrinkled his nose, stepping out of his car and locking the doors.

There was trash all over the place and it smelled just as bad as it looked. He was pretty sure he'd walked past at least six used needles on his way in and up the stairs of the apartment building. He got to the door holding the room number Mac told him and knocked. He didn't look nearly as pretty now. There was dried blood under his nose and bruises flowering beneath and at the corners of his eyes. Dennis could make out tear tracks on his face, could see glue caked up in his hair- glue? Really?- and he could smell alcohol even from outside the room.

Dennis reached out, giving Mac an awkward pat on the shoulder. "You look like shit."

"Thanks." Mac grumbled, wincing just seconds later. "Think he broke my fucking nose."

"Sure looks like it." Dennis agreed, making Mac snicker. "Why'd you call me?"

"Don't got anyone else." Mac mumbled, turning around to step inside and let Dennis into the apartment. Dennis tried not to show his disgust at the mess. Mac hated it being messy, but he didn't have the energy or motivation to clean. "Charlie kinda beat me up."

"I can tell." Dennis nodded, not closing the door. "We could go to my place? Instead of here?"

Mac looked embarrassed. "You don't need to do that. I'm fine here."

"Do you even have a functioning shower? Come on, dude. You look like hell. At least come over so you can clean up."

"Your apartment is gonna smell like glue."

"I don't- dude, shut up. I don't care. Come on." Dennis walked out of the apartment. Mac sighed heavily and followed, making sure to close the door behind him. If Charlie came home and he wasn't there, well... that wasn't Mac's problem. Dennis was acting like someone who wasn't an asshole, for once. He even opened the door for Mac once they got to his car.

"Rick Astley again, huh?" Mac teased, smiling as much as he could without it causing him pain. Dennis rolled his eyes and drove, out of the dirty neighborhoods, going through the backstreets and into the most expensive area in the city of Philadelphia. His apartment building had a private designated parking lot. Mac was just a bit impressed.

"I'm on the fourth floor, baby boy." Dennis reached over once he'd parked, caressing Mac's cheek, some unknown expression flashing across his face.

"Um. Okay?" Mac got out himself, following behind Dennis.

He looked so out of place, he felt so out of place. His clothes were filthy, he was filthy, everything about him was sticky and bloody and bruised. Others gave him weird looks, disgusted looks, but Dennis didn't seem to care as he led Mac to the elevator, ignoring the confused reactions he was getting. The door closed with only the two of them inside.

"I'll help you clean up." Dennis decided, not looking at Mac, instead watching the numbers change on the display inside the elevator. "I've had experience with broken noses."

"Is that why yours looks so fucked up?" Mac joked, snorting when Dennis looked at him in shock, reaching up to feel his nose. "I'm kidding, dude. I'm kidding."

Dennis huffed but the door was opening. He led Mac down the hall a ways until they reached the end at which Dennis finally opened a door and let him in.

Mac was immediately greeted with the mental question of why the fuck any one person needed a two bedroom apartment of this size to themselves. There were other apartments on this floor, too- how the fuck was Dennis's so big?

"That's not the bathroom." Dennis stated as Mac peeked inside one of the bedrooms, raising an eyebrow at all the pink and purple furniture. Maybe Dennis just liked more commonly feminine colors. Whatever.

Dennis led him to a fucking huge- in Mac's opinion- bathroom, taking a fluffy white towel out of the closet and placing it on the counter. "Can I shower with you?"

Was this dude crazy? Did Mac look up to fuck? He scoffed, shaking his head. "Listen, Reynolds, if you wanted to fuck me you should've said it earlier. I just want to clean up."

Dennis almost looked offended. "I'm not trying to fuck you."

"Then fine. Strip with me and get in."

* * *

 

Dennis took the time to admire everything he could see about Mac. His dark hair, pretty hazel eyes that looked almost purely green, the muscles in his arms standing out as he reached up to wash his hair. He had a bit of pudge on his stomach. Dennis normally found any amount of fat to be disgusting, but it was just a cute little bit on Mac's stomach and he couldn't make himself dislike it. There was a dark trail of hair from his belly button down to his dark, almost black, pubic hair. He had thick thighs, ones that Dennis wanted to kiss and bite. Gorgeous thighs. Pink nipples. Soft, thick cock.

"Ya done staring yet?" Mac teased, shampoo bubbling in his dark mess of hair. He noticed Dennis staring at him, looking him up and down. It wasn't the hungry, greedy gaze he normally got from clients. It was more along the lines of admiration. Mac's face flushed just a bit, closing his eyes to rinse out the shampoo.

"You've got a black eye." Dennis teased, reaching over to wipe the dripping blood from his face. "Makes you look badass."

"I am badass." Mac mumbled, finally opening his eyes once all the shampoo was rinsed. "I am super badass."

Dennis snickered and handing him a cloth, rolling his eyes. "Shut up and finishing washing off."

"Why, so you can keep checking me out?"

"Oh yeah, with all those soap bubbles." Dennis teased.

"Pervert." Mac teased back, lips twisting up into a smile.

They spent a little longer in the shower before finally getting out, Dennis forcing Mac to sit on the counter so that he could further clean the wound, laughing when Mac went cross-eyed to try and see what was going on with his nose. It turned out not to be broken, just crunched- not crunched either, really, just... fucked up and bloody. Or maybe it was broken, but Dennis didn't think it felt like it. The again, he wasn't a doctor.

It probably was broken, actually, seeing as how badly the bruises had spread, but Mac said he didn't want to go to a doctor. Dennis could respect that. He wasn't a big fan of doctors anyway. Doctors and lawyers- they were blood suckers, except the blood was money.

"If it's any consultation, you look cute with a broken nose." Dennis joked, laughing when Mac smacked him with a towel. He was surprised by how much he had been laughing. "Hey, don't hit me!"

"I'm gonna fight you." Mac grumbled, playfully glaring at Dennis. "Gonna chop your head off and keep it in a box in my freezer."

"Not if I do it first." Dennis replied smoothly, his grin growing even wider. "I have more practice in the storage of limbs. I'll make a suitcase out of your flesh."

Mac rolled his eyes, hopping off the counter. He was still butt-naked and didn't seem to give a shit. "Are you just gonna lock me in the bathroom all day?"

"Shut up. We'll watch a movie or something."

Dennis let him borrow an old oversized sweatshirt from college, dressing himself in normal relaxing clothes, gathering a few blankets and beers before heading to the living room. Mac was already waiting there, holding up two DVD cases with a shit-eating grin.

"You've got The Wiz. And Predator."

"Do you seriously want to watch the fucking Wiz?"

Mac's grin widened even more and Dennis snorted, rolling his eyes. He snatched the case out of Mac's hand and went to pop the DVD into the player, grabbing the remote to turn it on. Once on the couch, sitting under the same blanket, he hit play.

He could hear Mac singing along at different points throughout the movie. At some point he ended up with his head in Mac's lap, staring lazily up at the other man.

He spoke for the first time since they'd started the movie. "My name is Mac, by the way."

"Mac." Dennis repeated, looking up at him with a tiny grin. "I'm Dennis."

Mac smacked his arm. "I knew that! Shut up and watch The Wiz!"

Dennis couldn't help it, he burst out laughing. "You're such a bitch."

Mac grunted and looked back up at the people dancing on the screen, singing along again- much to Dennis's amusement. Mac wasn't a bad singer, really, but Dennis was amused that he was so into some stupid musical. Dennis reached up and poked his cheek, just to watch him scrunch up his nose and then whine when it hurt. It was cute. Dennis didn't find people cute. Mac's soft stomach cushioning his head was also cute.

"You're like a pillow."

"Shut up and watch The Wiz!"

"This is so gay, Mac."

"You're gay!"

"So are you!"

Dennis laughed again, pressing his face to Mac's stomach to muffle it. Mac smacked him again, playfully. At some point, Dennis had leaned up to kiss him, and Mac kissed back.

It was only mid afternoon when they fell asleep on top of each other.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. Oops  
> Also I love Applebee's 10/10 this is me promoting Applebee's

Mac did not like crack. The comedown was too much, the high not worth the low. He'd only done it because Charlie had brought it home and offered it to him. Who would turn down free crack? Even if, technically, it wasn't free. Charlie very likely had bought it with Mac's money.

It was three in the afternoon. He'd been passed out for twelve god damn hours. Charlie was still passed out, half on the mattress and half off.

Mac walked over to the bathroom, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light, leaning in toward the mirror to check the state of his nose. Charlie had broken it a month before, and it was pretty much healed- his bruises, at least, had faded. He'd been working less lately, trying to be home more, let his nose heal and try to fix his friendship a little bit, but Charlie wasn't even trying to stay sober after the glue incident. It didn't help that they were running out of money and rent was due soon.

Mac put on his makeup, making sure to cover any bruises, darkening his eyes and lips and cheeks just a little bit. Accentuating his natural features. He really needed to get back to working more often, had to get back to multiple clients a day. He hadn't seen Dennis in two weeks or so either. Sure, it was a busy time at work and all, but... Mac sighed, grabbing his well-worn coat off the floor and pulling it on, tugging it snugly around himself before heading out the door.

It didn't take long to find some lonely guy willing to pay for sex. Mac just waltzed into the crummiest pub in Philadelphia, pants too tight and short too cropped for the cold weather, even with a coat on top of it. The guy actually fucked him in one of the bathroom stalls, shoving a dirty, crumpled fifty dollar bill into his hand before walking out. His clients had been cheaper lately. He'd been cheaper. Broken nose, ugly bruises- damaged goods were cheaper.

He was washing his hands when a familiar face appeared behind him in the mirror, a hand resting on his shoulder. Mac felt the corners of his lips twitch upward.

"Cricket."

"Haven't seen you in a while." The blonde replied with a toothy grin. Whenever Mac thought he'd hit rock bottom, he'd think of Cricket and realize, well, at least Mac had an apartment and a shower. Cricket was always filthy, clothes discolored and torn. Mac often wondered how he managed to get clients in the first place.

"Same to you, man." Mac grinned, turning around to look at the man. "I haven't been working as much lately. I'm tryin' to get back to working more, though."

Cricket nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "I know some guys if you really need cash. Real nasty dudes, poor hygiene, the no-condom type crowd. Alleyway fucking and all that. They pay nice though, let me tell you. Dudes with good money who get off on doing the most disgusting shit possible."

"So, you?" Mac joked, snickering at his own joke. "I don't do the no-condom thing."

Cricket shrugged. "Suit yourself. I got a lot of regulars in that crowd."

"I'll pass, but thanks." Mac gave Cricket a heavy pay on the shoulder and headed for the bathroom door, ready to pick up some more clients and get in a good few, make some extra cash.

Just thinking about random men fucking him bareback made Mac shudder internally. He didn't want to be loaded up with what was very likely infected semen. And fucking outside? He wasn't above that, he'd done it before, but it was much to cold to be doing that at the present time. Mac shifted a bit uncomfortably on his bar stool.

"Need a drink?" The bartender asked, voice slurred, and Mac was pretty sure that most of the drinks actually went into his stomach instead of being served.

"Yeah, sure. Hit me up with a beer."

Mac propped up his elbow on the table, head resting against his hand, looking aimlessly around the bar as he waiting for the man to return.

The bartender came back quick- unsurprising, as Mac was one of the only customers there. Mac nodded a thanks and took it, ignoring the looks the man on the other side of the bar was giving him.

"I saw you go into the bathroom with that dude."

"And?" Mac swallowed some of his beer, bored expression on his face. He raised an eyebrow.

"You some kinda whore?"

Mac actually laughed, almost dropping his beer. "Nah, I just go into the bathroom with dudes for fun and somehow manage to come out with cash."

The bartender cracked a smile and shook his head. "A mouth like that is gonna get you in trouble."

"A mouth like this could make some cash if you invited me behind the bar."

The man raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Nah, dude. I'm straight. I got a wife and kids. I'm not saying you're ugly- you're not- just not my type."

Mac laughed heartily and nodded, taking another large sip of his beer. "I got it man, no hard feelings. Lotta guys I work for have wives."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. Rich bastards who want to fuck some guy's ass behind everyone's backs."

"Get a lot of business?"

"Oh yeah. When I want to, that is." Mac put down the bottle, now empty. "Could you get me another beer?"

"Sure thing." The dude walked a little ways down, lifting up a new bottle. "My name's Bill, by the way."

"Mac. Nice to meet you." Mac held out a hand and Bill shook it. "Say, Bill. It's been a while since I've made any new friends."

"Today's your lucky day then, huh?" Bill watched as Mac popped the cap off the second bottle and started drinking. "Know what? Drinks on the house."

Mac grinned rather widely. "You sure you don't want a blowjob, Bill? I've been told I am quite talented."

Bill laughed, the large man's shoulders shaking as he did. "I already told you, bud. No cock sucking for me."

"Suit yourself." Mac teased. "So, Bill. It's always nice to talk to people who don't just want to rip my ass in half. What's your family like?"

* * *

 

Dennis was so

Fucking

Angry.

Some dumb shit was going on in Philly and it was something that fell under his responsibilities. He hadn't hired that whore- Mac- in over a month. He was swamped with work, bribes and fraud and making as much money as he could. It didn't help that one of the higher-ups had started asking questions about where certain funds have gone.

Dennis swore he saw a strand of grey in his hair that morning.

He sat at his desk, hands clenched into fists on his lap, head bowed and teeth clenched. He was fuming, having just got off the phone with Dee, who informed him she'd be staying with him for a while. When he tried to argue, she informed him that if he didn't comply, he would have to answer to Frank. He was going to have to deal with his stupid sister. He had about a week to himself, not nearly enough time to prepare for someone else to move in. He had a shit ton of work to do. He'd slept overnight in the office twice in the past week.

He did what any reasonable man would do.

He left work to go cry in a booth by himself at Applebee's. A plate of potstickers sat on the table in front of him alongside a cup of beer. There was really no one around- it was the middle of the day. Dennis actually liked Applebee's. His server was cute but, sadly, underage. She had green eyes, dark hair tied back in a high ponytail, smiling brightly each time she came to ask how he was doing. He asked for a coffee. She brought it. He ate his pot stickers in silence.

"How is everything?" She asked, stopping by his table after helping the one other table in the restaurant at that time.

"Terrible, actually." He grumbled, swallowing his mouthful of food.

"Oh, I'm very sorry sir, was there an issue with the food? I can have the kitchen fix it up-"

"No, no. The food is fine. I just have so much work."

She nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry about that."

"Here, have a seat." He gestured to the empty seat across the table from him. When she hesitated, he spoke again. "There's only one other table. If your boss complains, I'm rich and well known, you won't have any issues."

"Sir, I'm very sorry, but I cannot sit with you while working. Could I get you anything else to eat or drink?"

"God damnit!" Dennis suddenly snapped, slamming his cup of beer down on the table. The pretty young waitress's eyes widened in shock. "You- you lower class workers- you don't know shit. You should be kissing the ground I walk on! You should be begging for the chance to sit with me! I am the most handsome man in Philadelphia, I am a five star man, I have more money in my pocket now than you'll make in all your life!"

The waitress stepped back, clutching her small notepad to her chest. "I-I'm very sorry that I've offended you sir, would you like me to get you a manager?"

"Manager? Hah! A restaurant manager knows nothing! Nothing! You're all fools."

The other table was trying to pretend they weren't staring at him, but they were. The bar staff were as well, and two others stood in the kitchen doorway. Dennis felt his face slowly flush red and he grit his teeth, fumbling to pull out his wallet, throwing more money than necessary at the waitress and storming away. He heard someone murmur 'Dennis Reynolds' on his way out.

He really should've known that he'd be recognized, especially after loudly making it known that he was a man of high status. Any sort of scandal or outburst involving any man of high status was sure to sell to the press. Especially when a lonely young man sitting at the bar took a picture with his mobile phone.

Mac found out before Dennis even knew that someone had gone to the press with the story. As far as Mac was concerned, the opportunity was too good to pass up.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter ten bitch

"I knew something was up with that guy."

There was a murmur of agreement in the room, all eyes on Mac as he spoke. It was almost like he was important, respected, but he could see the underlying disgust in their expressions. It didn't surprise him. It wasn't unusual. In all honesty, he didn't care.

Another person spoke up. "Comptroller isn't that important, you know, this really-"

Another jornalist interrupted. "Shut up. Have you seen the guy before? He acts like hot shit, he's got an in with all the higher-ups, he makes himself known. This could be huge."

It wasn't that Dennis had really been bad to him, it was just that the idea was too good to pass up, especially now that he'd been working less and spending more time with Charlie. He needed the money. He needed to be able to help the only person he really had in his life.

That was why Mac was sitting in a small office surrounded by journalists.

"Do you want call logs? Sperm samples? Damn. One of your city officials is paying to fuck whores because he can't get a girlfriend or boyfriend without using his money." Mac tapped his fingers on the desk, watching them type and scribble furiously onto notebooks and laptops. "Make of that what you will."

"Would you say Dennis Reynolds has scared off his potential partners?"

"Did you hear about the old scandal with him and his old secretary?"

"Has he taken you out to dinner?"

"Is it true that he had an affair with his sister, Deandra Reynolds?"

"How much is he paying you?"

Mac's eyebrows raised up higher as they bombarded him with questions, face reddening. "I don't know all these things, but I know he calls his sister a bird, likes choking, and I think he has this weird power dynamic going on in his head. He also drives an old Range Rover."

The journalists nodded quickly, listening intently and writing down every detail.

"Just between you and me," Mac started, smile playing on his lips, "I met him at some sex party filled with a bunch of older men."

Mac already had money in his pockets and was ready to get more, stretching the truth just a little bit to ensure a little extra cash. He should've felt bad, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. He barely knew Dennis, and the dude had kicked him out the first time they fucked, so it was fair.

"Have you met Deandra?" One of them prodded. Mac grinned and nodded.

"In a bar. She drinks like an alcoholic. She's from LA, I wouldn't be too surprised."

By the end of the meeting, he was quite a bit richer than he had been before it. He had multiple envelopes full of cash- he'd refused checks- and he was ready to buy real food and eat dinner with Charlie. He didn't think twice about Dennis, the dude was rich and powerful. Scandal or not, he'd still have his cash. The second he got home, the rich client was out of his thoughts.

* * *

 

Dennis was screwed. Fucked. Everyone in Philly was talking about how he couldn't get laid without paying someone. Everyone had seen pictures of his outburst in Applebee's. He knew who sold him out about the prostitution thing, too. He knew it was Mac. He knew it. He tried calling him, but Mac wouldn't pick up. He ended up driving through the shit parts of Philly until he reached Mac's apartment. It was a shithole. He didn't bother knocking, storming in and throwing open the door to his apartment. He was greeted by the site of two men surrounded by liquor bottles and sitting on the floor. The smaller man looked up at him and Dennis noted that he looked similar to a rat. Mac didn't look up until after he'd chugged half of one of the bottles, too drunk to really acknowledge Dennis.

Instead of speaking, Mac laughed at him.

"You slut!" Dennis snapped, feeling his anger heat up when Mac didn't even flinch. "You stupid, worthless whore."

"Tha's me." Mac grinned crookedly up at him. He was completely wasted, hair a mess, pants unbuttoned and shirt lifted up a bit to expose his midriff. He lifted up the bottle again, taking a large swig.

Dennis practically growled, eyebrows furrowing. "You sold me out, you dumb slut." Mac laughed and Dennis leaned over, grabbing the bottle from Mac's hand and throwing it, both of the men on the floor looking up at him in surprise. He pointed to Mac. "Stand up."

"Nuh uh." Mac's eyes were wide, mouth open in surprise, cheeks flushed.

"Stand. Up. You made plenty of cash selling me out, and I want you to fucking earn the money you made."

Mac's eyes widened even more. "Uh- wha-at?"

"How much did you make?"

"A, uh, few thousand? I think," Mac slurred, still staring up at him.

"And how much is your typical hourly rate?"

"Uhh- uh- one hundred?"

"Then you owe me at least ten hours of service." Dennis crossed his arms.

"Nuh uh." Mac giggled, cheeks flushed.

"You made that money off of me, right?" Dennis knelt down, cupping Mac's face in his hands.

"Uh- maybe- yeah?" Mac stared at him.

"So then you owe me service."

Mac whined, a high pitched whine from deep in his throat. "But I like money-"

"I think we should start now."

Charlie watched them with wide eyes and an open mouth.

"Den-"

"I said now, slut."

Mac glanced over at Charlie. "Char- hey, hey Charlie- Charlie. Can you go somewhere?"

The smaller man nodded, hurrying to his feet. "Bye Mac, be safe."

Mac gave him a lopsided grin and waved. Charlie shut the door behind him.

Dennis was shoving Mac over onto the mattress almost immediately after Charlie left, pulling at his filthy clothing, palming at his crotch through his boxers. Mac moaned, eyes trained on Dennis's face. "Dennis?"

"What?" The older man snapped, pausing.

"Want you to fuck my ass." Mac snickered, body relaxed against the mattress. Dennis cocked an eyebrow as Mac continued to speak. "Hard."

"That was the plan, you drunken idiot." Dennis snapped, tossing Mac's clothes onto the floor, quickly working to remove his own clothing and climb on top of Mac, hands on either side of him, caging him in. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you can't walk."

Mac moaned, eyes glazed over, cock semi-hard and resting against his stomach. Mac could handle his booze, but not multiple full bottles of liquor. "You're so hot." He whined, lifting his hips.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Dennis grumbled, lowering himself down to press his crotch against Mac's, cocks grinding together. Mac eagerly rubbed back against him, an action fitting for a whore. Dennis almost wished he could tape it. "You really are a whore."

"You're so hot." Mac repeated, moaning ridiculously loud.

"You're drunk as fuck."

"Lemme suck your cock."

Dennis nearly choked on his breath, pausing a minute before lifting his hips and shifting around to sit with his back against the wall. Mac actually giggled, moving onto his hands and knees, lowering his head to start kissing along Dennis's thighs, lifting his ass up. Dennis groaned, admiring the view.

Mac started sucking hickeys on Dennis's thighs, messily pulling the skin between his teeth and leaving deep red marks in his wake. His mouth was hot and wet, slowly working his way up to the base of Dennis's cock. Lazy, glazed over green eyes looked up at the older man as Mac's tongue dragged up over his balls, avoiding touching the shaft of his cock.

"That's it, slut, good boy." Dennis praised, reaching down to thread his fingers through Mac's hair- fluffed up and soft, unlike its normal greased-back state. Mac was being sloppy, but it was still better than most blowjobs Dennis had ever gotten. The younger man's tongue was sliding up the underside of his cock, lips wrapping around the head.

Dennis should've been angry- no. He was angry, furious, but the rage was overpowered by the heavy arousal pooling in his gut. Mac's mouth was hot and wet, slowly taking more of him in and sucking sloppily.

"Drunk fuckin' whore." Dennis grunted, tightening his grip on Mac's hair and thrusting up into his throat, the sudden motion causing Mac to gag around him. He held Mac down for a few moments, waiting until the younger man was red in the face before letting him up to gasp for air. "I'm tired of this. I want to fuck you. Turn around."

Mac whined but obeyed, staying on his hands and knees but turning around. Dennis shifted up onto his knees, lining his wet cock up against Mac's hole.

"Wait-" Mac turned his head, voice slurred. "You forgot to- uh- forgot to prep me, Den."

"No I didn't." Dennis smirked back at him, a dark glint in his eyes as he slowly began to push in.

Mac let his head fall back into place and whined, Dennis's cock forcing its way in, stretching and burning. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Dennis didn't have a condom on.

"See, slut? It's so obvious that you're a whore, my cock can slide into you even without preparation."

"Hurts." Mac whined, although his cock was hard and hanging between his legs.

Dennis laughed, smirk growing on his lips. "You're fine. You're so tight, slut, I'm surprised. You'd think that with all-" He pulled out and thrusted back in, making Mac yelp, "the cock-" another harder thrust, "you take, you'd be looser than this."

Mac's arms had bent and his torso was pressed to the mattress, face pressed against it to muffle his whimpering and moaning, cock leaking precome as Dennis's fingers dug into his hips. His saliva from sucking Dennis's cock wasn't very good lubricant and had almost all worn away. It hurt and felt good at the same time, Dennis angling himself to hit Mac's prostate with each thrust, making the younger man squirm and moan.

"I'm gonna come inside you, okay slut? You're so fucking tight when I don't prep you. You're fucking squeezing my cock, you dumb whore."

Mac squirmed, grinding his ass back against Dennis in attempt to get more contact against his prostate. Dennis laughed.

"I bet you love getting your ass filled with come, huh? Want me to come inside you, bitch?"

When Mac didn't reply, Dennis reached down with one hand to grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up and back. Mac's face was flushed deep red, tears collected in the corners of his eyes. He was panting softly and whining deep in his throat, eyes rolled back and glazed over.

"I said, don't you, bitch?"

"Y-yes." Mac stammered.

"Yes what?" Dennis's voice was dark, cold, demanding, and it sent a chill up Mac's spine.

"Yes, I like- I like having come inside me- fucking hell, Dennis-" Mac trailed off into a loud moan as Dennis sped up his thrusts, pounding into Mac's prostate for a few moments before pushing all the way in and stopping.

Mac could feel Dennis's cock twitching and pulsing inside him, and Dennis had his head tipped back, curses falling from his lips at the way Mac's ass clenched around his cock as he came. He was vaguely aware of Mac reaching down to stroke himself, the younger man suddenly trembling and moaning, clenching tighter as he came all over his fist and the mattress at the feeling of Dennis's come spilling inside him.

"Good boy." Dennis groaned, slowly pulling out as Mac collapsed onto the mattress with a tiny drunken giggle.

"Damn. Didn't know you could fuck like that, Reynolds." His voice was less slurred and more worn out from moaning and groaning and whimpering.

"Yeah, yeah." Dennis smacked his ass playfully, looking down to where his come was leaking out of Mac's hole. "And I didn't know you were a little rat."

"You'll be fine." Mac rolled over to lay on his back, grinning hazily up at Dennis. "I need cash more than you do."

"I could lose my fucking job."

"You're rich." Mac stuck his tongue out and Dennis leaned down, placing an arm on either side of Mac's torso and kissing him roughly.

Mac moaned into his mouth but pushed him off after a minute, grinning. "We're not rabbits, dude. I'm not fucking again right now."

Dennis scoffed and rolled his eyes, sitting back up. "You know, this place is a dump."

"Before I sold you out, Charlie and I had like twenty bucks total."

"How do you afford this apartment?"

"I fuck the landlord." Mac winked and snorted at the look on Dennis's face. "Are you really that shocked?"

"Jesus Christ, dude." Dennis shook his head. "No offense, but this place is a serious shithole."

"You wanna buy me a new one?"

Dennis snorted. "No. But I do want to fuck you somewhere nicer than this next time. I don't want to keep risking getting bedbugs."

"Take me home then, pretty boy. Fuck me in your bed." Mac wiggled his eyebrows.

Dennis considered telling him about the cameras in his room. He decided not to as he stood up and headed for the door. "Maybe I will, that is, if you're ready tommorow night."

"Oh?"

"I'll pick you up at seven."

"It's like a date." Mac teased.

"No, it's like me plowing your ass." Dennis winked and opened the door. "See you later."

He closed it behind him and the smile fell quickly from Mac's face, as if it had never been there at all.


End file.
